LIBRARY. OR CONGRESS. 

Shelf v A -3 



mo 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



JACOB ABBOTT'S 



YOUNG CHRISTIAN SERIES. **. 

IN FOUR VOLUMES. 

I. THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN. 
II. THE CORNER STONE. 

III. THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 

IV. HOARYHEAD AND M'DONNER. 



VERY GREATLY IMPROVED AND ENLARGED. 



EJFft!) numerous Engtabfnfls. 



NEW YORK' 

HARPER &. BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 

329 & 331 PEARL STREET, 
FRANKLIN SQUARE. 

'1872. 



THE 



CORNER STONE. 



BY JACOB ABBOTT. 

II 

VERY GREATLY IMPROVED AND ENLARGED. 

C$tt1) numerous 25ufitabfuss. 




NEW YORK: 

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 

329 & 331 PEARL STREET, 

FRANKLIN SQUARE. 



The Library 

of Congress 



WASHtNGtON 



A* 



<, 



V 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by 
HARPER & BROTHERS, 
In the Clerk's Office for the Southern District of New York. 

Copyright, 1880, by Benjamin Vaughan Abbott, Austin Abbott, 
Lyman Abbott, Edward Abbott. 



N> 



PREFACE. 



^ 



The works comprised in the Young Christian series 
are the following : 

I. The Young Christian ; or, a Familiar Illustration 
of the Principles of Christian Duty. 

II. The Corner Stone ; or, a Familiar Illustration of 
the Principles of Christian Truth. 

III. The Way to do Good ; or, the Christian Char- 
acter Mature. 

IV. Hoaryhead and M'Donner ; or the Radical Na- 
ture of the Change in Spiritual Regeneration. 

The Young Christian, the first volume of the series, 
is intended as a guide to the young inquirer in first en- 
tering upon his Christian course. Like the other vol- 
umes of the series, the work is intended, not for chil- 
dren, nor exclusively for the young, but for all who are 
first commencing a religious life, whatever their years 
may be. Since, however, it proves, in fact, that such 
beginners are seldom found among those who have 
passed beyond the early periods of life, the author has 
kept in mind the wants and the mental characteristics 



PREFACE. 



of youth, rather than those of maturity, in the form in 
which he has presented the truths brought to view, and 
in the narratives and dialogues with which he has at- 
tempted to illustrate them. 

In respect to the theology of the work, it takes every 
where for granted that salvation for the human soul is 
to be obtained through repentance for past sin, and 
through faith and trust in the merits and atonement of 
our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Its main design, 
however, is to enforce the practice, and not to discuss 
the theory, of religion. Its object is simply to explain 
and illustrate Christian duty, exhibiting this duty, how- 
ever, as based on those great fundamental principles of 
faith in which all evangelical Christians concur. 



• J s^ 



The Corner Stone, the second volume of the series, 
though intended to explain and illustrate certain great 
religious truths, is not a work of technical theology. 
Its aim is simply to present, in a plain and very prac- 
tical manner, a view of some of the great fundamental 
truths of revealed religion, on which the superstructure 
of Christian character necessarily reposes. The char- 
acter and history of Jesus Christ, considered as the chief 
Corner Stone of the Christian faith, form the main sub- 
jects of the volume ; and the principles of faith which 
are brought to view are presented to the reader, as they 
are seen in the Scriptures, centring in him. 



PREFACE. V1J 



The Way to do Good, the third volume of the series, 
is designed to present a practical view of a life of Chris- 
tian usefulness, and to exhibit in a very plain and sim- 
ple manner the way in which a sincere and honest fol- 
lower of Jesus is to honor his sacred profession and ad- 
vance his Master's cause, by his daily efforts to promote 
the welfare and happiness of those around him. 

Hoaryhead and M'Donner, the fourth and last vol- 
ume of the series, consists of two connected tales, de- 
signed to illustrate the very radical character of the 
change by which the Christian life is begun. 

In the treatment of the various topics discussed in 
these volumes, the author has made it his aim to divest 
the subject of religion of its scholastic garb, and to pre- 
sent in all plainness and simplicity, and in a manner 
adapted to the intellectual wants of common readers, 
the great fundamental principles of truth and duty. It 
is now many years since the volumes of this series were 
first issued, and during that time they have been pub- 
lished, in whole or in part, very extensively through- 
out the Christian world. Besides the wide circulation 
which the series has enjoyed in this country, numerous 
editions, more or less complete, have been issued in En- 
gland, Scotland, Ireland, France, Germany, Holland, 
India, and at various missionary stations throughout 



PREFACE. 



the globe. The extended approbation which the Chris- 
tian community have thus bestowed upon the plan, and 
the increasing demand for copies of the several volumes, 
have led to the republication of the series at this time 
in a new and much improved form. The works have 
all been carefully revised by the author for this edition, 
and they are embellished with numerous illustrative 
engravings, which it is hoped may aid in making them 
attractive for every class of readers. 
New York, February, 1855. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

Paga 
THE DEITY, 13 



CHAPTER II. 

THE MAN CHRIST JESUS, . 5V 

CHAPTER III. 

. HUMAN DUTY, 75 

CHAPTER IV. 

HUMAN NATURE, . . . . . . . . .102 

CHAPTER V. 

PUNISHMENT, 130 

CHAPTER VI. 

PARDON, 161 

A* 



X CONTEXTS. 



CHAPTER VII. 

Page 
THE LAST SUPPER, 194 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE CRUCIFIERS, 232 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE PARTING COMMAS D, 273 

CHAPTER X. 

THE PARTING PROMISE, 321 

CHAPTER XL 

THE CONCLUSION, ........ 357 



ENGRAVINGS. 



Page 

JOSEPH AND MARY, . . . . * . . . . 13 

THE WALK IN THE GARDEN, 28 

SUMMER, 34 

WINTER, 36 

SOLITUDE, ......... 64 

THE WINTER NIGHT, 70 

THE LOST CAP, 82 

THE WALK, . .97 

THE MOTHER, 106 

THE PROSPECT, ......... 123 

THE FORGER, 132 

ALONE, 152 

THE TEMPTATION, 154 

THE FALLEN STUCCO, . . . . . . , .164 

THE HOSPITAL, 175 

FAITH, 184 

JERUSALEM, 195 

THE DIRECTIONS, . . . . . . ... 219 

THE PIT, 235 

judas, 247 

THE PALACE, 253 

CRUCIFY HTM, 264 

BEHOLD THE MAN, 266 



XU ENGRAVINGS. 

Page 
THE FRIENDS, . 288 

THE WIDOW, 301 

THE HARMLESS SERPENT, 306 

THE WITHERED HAND, 326 

THE COLLEGE, . . . . ' . . . . . . 330 

THE INTRUSION, 332 

THE MEETING, . . .351 

THE SEA-SHORE, . . . . . . • 367 

THE PLANTING, . ........ 374 

THE SCHOOL-BOY, 378 




THE CORNER-STONE. 



CHAPTER I. 



THE DEITY. 
"The glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ." 



Address to the reader. 



" If any man will do his will, lie shall know of the doc- 
trine ;" so said the Savior, and the obvious inference from it 
is, that we are to act up to the light we have, before we seek 
for more. Header, are you doing God's will ? This book 
is intended to explain such of the elementary principles of 
the gospel of Christ, as are necessary to supply the most 



14 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Preparation of the heart. The caravan. Night. 

pressing wants of a human soul hungering and thirsting after 
righteousness ; but this Gospel, the Bible assures us, can not 
be understood, unless the heart is ready to comply with its 
claims. If you have not confessed your sins therefore, and 
asked forgiveness, if you do not habitually strive against 
temptation, seeking help from above, if you do not aim at 
doing the will of God in your daily pursuits, I earnestly ad- 
vise you to go to God before you proceed farther, and implore 
his forgiveness for the past, and in the most solemn and em- 
phatic manner, commit yourself to him for the future. 
Whatever difficulties in your mind hang around the subjects 
connected with religious truth, you certainly know enough to 
see that this is a duty, and you can not neglect or postpone 
obedience to it without doing violence to conscience, and dis- 
pleasing God. Do it, then, before you proceed any farther. 
You will then have God's guidance and assistance as you go 
on. You will be preserved from error and led into the truth. 
Your heart being opened, the instruction which this volume 
may present, will enter into it, and contribute to its improve- 
ment and happiness. But it will do no good to go on heap- 
ing up the truth before the door of your heart, so long as the 
door is securely barred against its admission. 

Some centuries ago, a large, a very large company were 
traveling northwardly in early summer, through a lovely 
country, whose hills and valleys were clothed with the fig- 
tree, the olive, and the vine. They journeyed slowly and 
without anxiety or care, for their route lay through a quiet 
land, the abode of peace and plenty. Friends and acquaint- 
ances were mingled together in groups, as accident or inclina- 
tion might dictate, until the sun went down, and the ap- 
proach of evening warned them to make preparations for 
rest. While the various families were drawing off together 
for this purpose, the attention and the sympathy of the mul 



THE DEITY. 15 



The lost child. An anxious search. - Jerusalem at evening. 

titude were excited by the anxious looks and eager inquiries 
of a female, who was passing from group to group, with sor- 
row and agitation painted on her countenance. It was a 
mother, who could not find her son. It was her only son, 
and one to whom, from peculiar circumstances, she was veiy 
strongly attached. He had never disobeyed her ; — he had 
never given her unnecessary trouble, and the uncommon 
maturity of his mental and moral powers had probably led 
her to trust him much more to himself than in any other 
case would be justifiable. He was twelve years old, and she 
supposed that he had been safe in the company, but now 
night had come, and she could not find him. She went anx- 
iously and sorrowfully from family to family, and from friend 
to friend, inquiring with deep solicitude, " Have you seen 
my son ?" 

He was not to be found. No one had seen him, and the 
anxious parents left their company, and inquiring carefully 
by the way, went slowly back to the city whence they had 
come. 

The city was in the midst of a country of mountains and 
valleys. Dark groves crowned the summits, and richly culti- 
vated fields adorned their sides. The road meandered along 
the glens and vales, sharing the passage with the streams 
which flowed toward a neighboring sea. The city itself 
spread its edifices over the broad surface of a hill, one ex- 
tremity of which was crowned with the spacious walls and 
colonnades of a temple, rising one above another, the whole 
pile beaming probably in the setting sun, as these anxious 
parents approached it, in ail the dazzling whiteness of 
marble and splendor of gold. The parents however could 
not have thought much of the scene before them. They had 
lost their son. 

With what anxious and fruitless search they spent the 
evening and the following mornino\ we do not know. They 



16 THE CORNER-STONE. 



The temple. The boy found. The question and reply. 

at last however ascended to the temple itself. They passed 
from court to court, now going up the broad flight of steps 
which led from one to the other, now walking under a lofty 
colonnade, and now traversing a paved and ornamented area. 
At last in a public part of this edifice, they found a group 
collected around a boy, and apparently listening to what he 
was saying ; the feeling must have been mingled interest, 
curiosity and surprise. It was their son. His uncommon 
mental and moral maturity had by some means shown itself 
to those around him, and they were deeply interested in his 
questions and replies. 

His mother, for the narrative, true to nature and to fact, 
makes the mother the foremost parent in every thing con- 
nected with the search for their son, does not reproach him. 
She asked him why he had stayed behind, and gently reminded 
him of the sorrow and suffering he had caused them. He 
gave them a reply which she could not fully understand, and 
the feelings with which twelve years of intercourse, such as 
no mother ever before had with a son, had inspired her for 
him, forbade her pressing him for an explanation. " She 
laid his words up in her heart." 

With what a strange mixture of affection and wonder, 
and ardent but respectful regard, must the mother of Jesus 
have habitually looked upon her son. A boy who had never 
spoken an impatient or disrespectful word, who had never 
manifested an unkind or a selfish feeling, who had never dis- 
obeyed, never failed in his duty, but had, for twelve long 
years, never given father or mother an unnecessary step, or 
a moment's uneasiness, or neglected any thing which could 
give them pleasure. My reader, are you still under your 
father's roof ? If so, try the experiment of doing in every 
respect for a single week, your duty to father and mother ; 
fill your heart with kindness and love to them, and let your 
words and your actions be in all respects controlled by these 



THE DEITY. 17 



Mary'e feelings toward her son. His appearance and character. 

feelings ; — be the disinterested and untiring friend and helper 
of your little brothers and sisters ; — in a word, do your whole 
duty, in the family of which you form a part, making filial 
affection and respect the evident spring, and you will fill a 
mother's heart with gladness at the change. You can then 
a little understand the deep tide of enjoyment, which must 
have filled Mary's heart, during the childhood of her spotless 
son. 

What, too, must have been the progress of this child's 
mind, in knowledge and wisdom. A mind, never allured 
away by folly, or impeded by idleness, or deranged by pas- 
sion. Conceive of a frame too, which no guilty indulgence 
of appetite or propensity had impaired, and a countenance 
which w r as bright with its expression of intelligence and 
energy, and yet beaming with, kindness and love. It was 
the perfection of human nature, the carrying out to its limit, 
of all which God originally intended in the creation of man. 
And why was it so ? How has it happened, that among the 
millions upon millions of children who have by disobedience, 
ingratitude and sin, planted thorns in the parental pillow, 
and often thrown sadness about the circle in which they 
moved, this boy had been the only spotless one ? How is it, 
that he alone had walked in purity, — that he alone had 
never sinned, never sought selfishly his own, never given a 
parent pain, never injured a playmate, or returned an impa- 
tient word, or struck a blow in anger, or harbored a feeling 
of revenge ? He stands a glorious monument of perfect filial 
virtue, the more glorious because it is solitary. No other 
nation or kindred or people or clime, ever furnished such a 
case, or pretended to furnish one. It is remarkable that 
among all the endless fables and pretensions of ancient times, 
no historian or mythologist, no priest or prophet or philoso- 
pher, has ever pretended to have found a spotless man. The 
whole world withdraws its pretensions. Every system of re- 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



The Deity. Survey of the universe. 

ligion, and every school of philosophy stand back from this 
field, and leave Jesus Christ alone, the solitary example of 
perfect moral purity, in the midst of a world lying in sin. 
The motto of our chapter contains the only explanation. 
The moral glory which beams upon us in, this great example 

is " THE GLORY OF GoD IN THE FACE OF JeSLS CHRIST.' 

Almost all young persons are lost and confounded in a - 
tempting to obtain any clear conceptions of the Deity, or 
rather 1 should say, they are embarrassed and perplexed by 
many false and absurd impressions, which come up with 
them from childhood, and which cling to them very obsti- 
nately in riper years. Let us turn away, then, a short time 
from the history of the child Jesus, that we may look a little 
into this subject. It is not an easy one. It will require pa- 
tient thought and close attention. You ought to pause, from 
time to time, as you read the following paragraphs, to look 
within and around you, and to send forth your conceptions far 
away in the regions into which I shall attempt to guide them. 
And above all, remember that if ever you need divine assist- 
ance, it is when you attempt to look into the nature and 
character of that Power which is the origin and the support 
of all other existence. 

In the first place, let us take a survey of the visible uni- 
verse, that we may see what manifestations of God appear in 
it. Let us imagine that we can see with the naked eye all 
that the telescope can show us, and then in order that we 
may obtain an uninterrupted view, let us leave this earth, and 
ascending from its surface, take a station where we can look, 
without obstruction, upon all around. As we rise above the 
summits of the loftiest mountains, the bright and verdant re- 
gions of the earth begin to grow dim. City after city, and 
stream after stream fade away from view, and at length we 
see the whole earth itself rolling away on its course, and re- 
flecting from its surface a uniform and silvery light. As the 



THE DEITY. 19 



The sun. m The moon. 

last breath of its atmosphere draws off from us, it leaves us 
in the midst of universal night, with a sky extending without 
interruption all around us, and bringing out to our view in 
every possible direction, innumerable and interminable vistas 
of stars. They grow fainter and fainter in the distance, till 
they are lost in measureless regions, too remote to be seen, 
but which are still as full and as brilliant as those which are 
near. In one quarter of the heavens, we do indeed see 
the sun, shining in all its splendor, but as there is now no 
atmosphere around us to reflect its rays, they produce no 
general illumination, and the dazzling splendor of his disk 
beams out from a dark nocturnal sky. The stars beyond 
him, bright or faint, as they are nearer or more distant, 
send to us their beams entirely unobstructed by his rays. 
We have thus the whole visible universe open to our view, 
so far as telescopic vision will carry us into its remoter re- 
gions. Let us look at it in detail. 

Do you see yon moon-like looking planet, gliding almost 
imperceptibly toward us on its way ? From that portion of 
its surface which is turned toward the sun, it reflects to us a 
silvery light, while the rest of its form is in shadow and un- 
seen. As it approaches us it enlarges and swells until it fills 
the whole quarter of the sky whence it comes. Its illumin- 
ated surface is turned more and more from us as it passes 
between us and the sun, and as it wheels majestically by us, 
we see, dimly indeed, for we look upon its shaded side, broadly 
extended regions crowded with life and vegetation. The 
mighty mass however passes on ; a bright line of light be- 
gins to creep in upon its western limb. The darkened sur- 
face gradually fades from our view, and we soon see nothing 
but the shining crescent, which dwindles to a point, as this 
mighty world of life, covered with verdure and thronged 
with population, wheels away and takes its place among 
the stars of the evening sky, itself soon the faintest star of all. 



20 ' TILE CORNER-STONE. 



Jupiter ; his satellites. Distance. Exact regularity. 

In another quarter of the heavens, we see a larger planet 
whose surface it would take the swiftest human travelei 
hundreds of years merely to explore ; but it beams mildly 
upon us from its distant orbit, a little gilded ball. 

There are four bright points in the sky near it ; two on 
each side, so minute as to be almost invisible, and yet shin- 
ing with a clear and steady light, except when in their reg- 
ular revolution round their parent orb, they disappear behind 
him, or are lost in his shadow. The whole group, the moons 
and the mighty mass around which they revolve, sweep on 
in their annual circuit with a velocity almost inconceivable, 
but in their measureless distance, their motion is to us so 
nearly imperceptible, that we must watch them days or 
weeks to be satisfied that they move at all. 

Measureless distance, did I say ? No. The Creator of 
this moving world has framed an intellect which has exactly 
surveyed the bounds of this mighty orbit. The distance of 
this planet is measured, and its mighty mass is weighed, as 
accurately as any distance, or any weight, can be ascertained ; 
and human calculation will tell precisely what situation, at 
any instant, hundreds of years hence, the planet itself and 
every one of its satellites will have assumed. The maker of 
this machinery set it in motion at least six thousand years 
ago, and yet so precise, so unaltered, and unalterable is the 
regularity with which it goes on, that its revolutions constitute 
now the very standard of exactness among men. By these 
revolutions, an observer in the remotest lands finds what is 
the exact time at his distant home, and learns the very dis- 
tance which separates him from it. Jupiter and his satellites 
constitute in fact an illuminated clock, which God has placed 
in the heavens, and whose motions he regulates so as to make 
it an unerring guide to man. 

Turn now to another quarter, and you see far, far beyond 
all that we have yet observed, a brilliant star, the brightest 



THE DEITY. 21 



Sirius. The panorama of the universe. Childish illusion. 

among all the constellations around. It is Sirius ; the fixed 
unaltered Sirius. He has been watched for ages, and gazed 
upon by ten thousand eyes, but no one has discovered in him 
the slightest motion or change. He keeps his precise place 
among the feebler companions around him. His luster never 
waxes nor wanes. No telescope will enlarge or alter him, 
or bring him nearer, and from two stations a hundred and 
ninety millions of miles apart, he appears in the same place, 
and shines with the same brightness, and his unalterable 
beam comes apparently from the same direction. 

But inconceivably remote as this star is from us, we can 
see far, very far beyond him. The eye penetrates between 
him and those around, away into boundless regions, where 
the vista stretches on from star to star, and from cluster to 
cluster, in endless perspective. The faint nebula is perhaps 
the most remote of all, whose dim and delicately-penciled 
light, in the very remotest sky, is, every ray of it, the con- 
centrated effulgence of a blazing sun, so inconceivably dis- 
tant however, that the united power of all can produce only 
the vision of a little faint cloud, apparently just ready to melt 
away and disappear. 

Such is the scene as it would present itself to an observer, 
who could escape for an hour from the obstructions to the 
view at the surface of the earth, and from the dimness and 
the reflections of our atmosphere. Our globe itself cuts oft 
one half of the visible universe at all times, and the air 
spreads over us a deep canopy of blue, which, during the 
day, shuts out entirely the other half. But were the field 
open, we should see in ever} 7 direction the endless perspective 
of suns and stars as I have described them. And this, too, 
oil around us, — above and below, to the east and to the 
west, to the north and to the south. The conception of 
childhood, — and it is one which clings to us in maturer 
years, — that above the blue sky there is a heaven concealed 



22 THE CORNER-STONE. 



No visible Deity. 



where the Deity sits enthroned, is a delusive one. God is 
everywhere. He has formed these worlds, these countless 
suns, and where we see his works, there we see his presence 
and agency. But the beautiful canopy above us does not 
conceal from us a material heaven beyond. The Deity is 
the all-pervading power, which lives and acts throughout 
the whole. He is not a separate existence having a special 
habitation in a part of it. If we look in every direction 
through this magnificent scene, we behold proofs of the 
active presence of the Deity in it all, but there is no mate- 
rial temple, no throne, no monarch with visible tokens of 
majesty. In fact if there was any quarter of the universe 
more magnificent than the rest, with a visible potentate 
seated there wielding his scepter, that visible potentate 
ivoidd not, could not be God. It must be a creation, not 
the universal, uncaused Creator. It might be a manifestation 
of the supreme power, but it would not be, and could not be 
that power itself, which from its very nature is universal in 
its presence, and which consequently no limits and no place 
can confine. 

It will be observed by the reader, that I am speaking here 
of a heaven considered as the seat of government occupied 
by a visible Deity on a throne. That the future residence 
of the happy, will be a definite place, where extraordinary 
tokens of God's presence, and extraordinary manifestations 
of his power and glory will be seen, is highly probable. 
I am speaking only of conceptions which make the Deity 
himself corporeal, not spiritual, and assign him a special 
place, instead of regarding him as the great invisible spirit, 
every part of the wide universe being equally his home. 

Banish then, for this is the object to which I have been in 
these paragraphs aiming, all material ideas of a Deity, and do 
not let your imagination struggle to find its way upward to 
some material heaven,, with indefinite and idle conceptions 



THE DEITY. 23 



The spirit ; seen only in his works. Various manifestations. 

of a monarch seated on a throne. The striking and beauti- 
ful metaphors of the Bible never were intended to give us 
this idea. God is a Spirit, it says in its most emphatic tone. 
A spirit ; that is, he has no form, no place, no throne. 
Where he acts, there only can we see him. He is the wide- 
spread omnipresent poicer, which is everywhere employed, — 
but which we can neither see, nor know, except so far as he 
shall manifest himself by his doings. 

If we thus succeed in obtaining just conceptions of the 
Deity as the invisible and universal 'power ', pervading all 
space, and existing in all time, we shall at once perceive 
that the only way by which he can make himself known 
to his creatures, is by acting himself out, as it were, in his 
works ; and of course the nature of the manifestation which 
is made will depend upon the nature of the works. In the 
structure of a solar system, with its blazing center and re- 
volving worlds, the Deity, invisible itself, acts out its mighty 
power, and the unerring perfection of its intellectual skill. 
At the same time, while it is carrying on these mighty move- 
ments, it is exercising in a very different scene, an untiring 
industry, and unrivaled taste, in clothing a mighty forest 
with verdure, bringing out in beauty its millions of opening 
buds, and painting, by slow and cautious steps, the petal of 
every flower, and every insect's wing. And so everywhere 
this unseen and universal Essence, acts out its various attri- 
butes, by its different works. We can learn its nature only 
by the character of the effects which spring from it. 

But I hear my reader say, " I can not dispel the idea that 
there is above me, somewhere in the lofty sky, the peculiar 
residence of Jehovah, from which he puts forth, as it were, 
his arm, and produces ail these effects in the more distant 
regions of his creation ; and I can not but hope that one day 
I shall see him there." 

Now doubtless you may reasonably hope to enjoy at some 



24 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Unworthy conceptions of God. 

future day spiritual realizations of the existence and power 
and presence of the Deity, far more intimate and vivid than 
you now even conceive of: but these realizations can not be 
By means of any thing like bodily vision. Nothing can be 
seen by the eye but form and color, and form and color are 
not attributes of God. We must dispel all such unworthy 
conceptions of the supreme. Go out in the evening, and 
gaze up into the clear sky, till you realize that you can see 
away into those distant regions, far beyond the sphere which 
your childish imagination has assigned as the residence of 
God. Then reflect that the whole scene which you thus 
gaze into, will, in a few hours, be beneath your feet. Try 
to dispel the illusion, and thoroughly fix in your mind, so 
that it shall never leave you, the conception that the Deity 
is the all-pervading, universal and invisible power. He is 
below, as much as he is above ; for if we could perforate 
the earth, and look through to what is beneath our feet, we 
should find there as many worlds, as many blazing suns and 
shining stars, and as endless perspectives of brightness and 
beauty, all marking the presence and the agency of God, as 
we ever see above. 

This universal essence, then, must display to us its nature, 
by acting itself out in a thousand places, by such manifesta- 
tions of itself, as it wishes us to understand. Does God de- 
sire to impress us with the idea of his power ? He darts 
the lightning from cloud to cloud, — or rolls the thunder, — 
or shakes continents by his unseen hand. Does he wish to 
beam upon us in love ? What can be more expressive than 
the sweet summer sunset, and the thousand nameless tints 
and hues which give its expression of peace and happiness 
to the landscape, and air, and sky of evening. How can he 
make us acquainted with his benevolence and skill ? Why 
by acting them out in some mechanism which exhibits them. 
He may construct an eye, or a hand for man, filling them 



THE DEITY. 25 



Exhibitions of power ; love ; benevolence ; skill. 



with ingenious contrivances for our benefit, so numerous, 
that the very being who uses them may be centuries in 
exploring their mysterious wonders and yet not learn them 
all. How can he give us some conception of his intellectual 
powers ? • He can plan the motions of planets, and so exactly 
balance their opposing forces, that thousands of years shall 
not accumulate the slightest error, or disturb the unchanging 
precision of their way. But the great question, after all, is 
to come. It is the one to which we have meant that all 
which we have been saying should ultimately tend. How 
can such a being exhibit the moral principle by which his 
mighty energies are all controled ? 

He is an unseen, universal power, utterly invisible to us, 
and imperceptible, except so far as he shall act out his 
attributes in what he does. How shall he act out moral 
principle ? It is easy by his material creations, to make any 
impression upon us, which material objects can make ; but"~ 
how shall he exhibit to us the moral beauty of justice, and 
benevolence, and mercy between man and man ? How shall 
he exhibit to us clearly his desire that sorrow and suffering 
on earth should be mitigated, and injuries forgiven, and uni- 
versal peace and good- will reign among the members of this 
great family ? Can he do this by the thunder, the lightning 
or the earthquake ? Can he do it by the loveliness of the 
evening landscape, or the magnificence and splendor of the 
countless suns and stars ? "No. He might declare his moral 
attributes as he might have declared his power ; but if he 
would bring home to us the one, as vividly and distinctly as 
the other, he must act out his moral principles, by a moral 
manifestation, in a moral scene ; and the great beauty of™"*" 
Christianity is, that it represents him as doing so. He brings 
out the purity, and spotlessness, and moral glory of the 
Divinity, through the workings of a human mind, called into 
existence for this purpose, and stationed in a most conspicuoui 

B 



26 THE CORNER-STONE. 



M ^ral character displayed in Christ Jesus. Studying God's character, 

attitude among men. In the movements of a planet we see 
the energy of the Deity in constant occupation, showing us 
such powers and principles as majestic motion can show ; 
and in the moral movements of a mind, in which the energies 
of a Deity equally mingle, and which they equally guide, we 
have the far more important manifestation which the move 
ments of thought and feeling can show. Without some 
direct manifestation of the Deity in the spiritual world, the 
display of his character would be fatally incomplete, and it 
is a beautiful illustration of the more than harmony which 
exists between nature and revelation, that the latter does thus, 
in precise analogy, exactly complete what the former had 
begun. Thus the moral perfections of the divinity show 
themselves to us in the only way by which, so far as we can 
see, it is possible directly to show them, by coming out in 
action, in the very field of human duty, through a mysterious 
union with a human intellect and human powers. It is 
God manifest in the flesh ; the visible moral image of an 
all-pervading moral Deity, himself forever invisible. 

My object in this chapter, thus far, has been to show my 
readers, in what way, and on what principles they are to 
study the character of God. The substance of the view, 
which I have been wishing to impress upon your minds, is, 
that we are to expect to see him solely through the mani- 
festations which he makes of himself in his works. We have 
seen in what way some of the traits of his character are dis- 
played in the visible creation, and how at last he determined 
to manifest his moral character, by bringing it into action 
through the medium of a human soul. The plan was carried 
into effect, and the mysterious person thus formed appears for 
the first time to our view, in the extraordinary boy whom we 
left sitting in the temple, an object of wonder, which must have 
been almost boundless, since the power which was manifest- 



THE DEITY. 27 



His works examined. An experiment. 

ing itself in him was unknown. We have now in the suc- 
ceeding chapters of this book, to follow the circumstances 
and events of his remarkable history. 

Before we proceed, however, we have a few things of 
a practical character to say, which are suggested by this 
subject. 

1. A young Christian may derive great advantage, and 
enjoy much pleasure in studying the character of God on the 
principles of this chapter. I do not mean by reading books 
on the subject, but by making your own observations and 
reflections upon the scene and the objects around you. 
There are certain highly wrought contrivances, such as the 
eye, and the hand, which were long since exhibited as proofs 
of divine wisdom, and they have been so exclusively dwelt 
upon by writers since, as almost to produce the impression 
upon those who read passively, that these are all, or certainly 
the chief indications of divine wisdom. Whereas you can 
not take a walk, or sit at an open window, without finding 
innumerable examples as unequivocal as these. 

A young lady of active mind, who was out of health, and 
forbidden by her physician to read or study, and who com- 
plained that she did not know how to employ her thoughts, 
was advised by a friend to take a w T alk, and see how many 
proofs of divine contrivance she could find. Such an experi- 
ment, I would advise all my readers to try. With a very little 
ingenuity, they will succeed much better than they would 
imagine. Should any make the attempt, and reduce to 
writing the result of the observations made, the report might 
be perhaps somewhat as follows : 

" From the yard of my father's house I passed through a 
gate into the garden, intending to cross it and seek for my 
proofs of design, in the fields and wood beyond. As I passed 
along the walk, however, I observed several apples lying en 



23 



THE CORNER-STOAE. 



The ripe apple's stem. 



the ground, under a tree. I took up one and found that i' 
was ripe. 




.THE WALK IN THE GARDEN, 



* ' 1 began to consider whether there was not design in the 
smooth tight skin by which the apple was covered, protect- 
ing it so fully from the rain ; and thought that next spring, 
when the apples were about half formed, I would carefully 
pare one while it was on the tree, and then leave it, to see 
what effect the loss of its skin would have on its future growth 

" None but the ripe apples had fallen to the ground. It 
seems then that when the fruit has come to its maturity, it 
is so contrived as to let go its hold, and fall. There appears 
to be no natural connection between the maturity of the fruit 
and the weakness of the stem precisely at its junction with 
the tree, particularly as the rest of the stem continues strong 
and sound as before. 



THE DEITY. 2v 



Juices. Cells. The vine and its tendrils. Contraction. 

" I mellow eel one of the apples, as the boys term it, by 
striking it rapidly against a smooth post, without however 
breaking the skin. Before, though it was not very hard, it 
was firm to the touch, but now it was soft and yielding. 
What change had I made in its interior ? A ball of wood 
could not be thus softened by blows. I cut it open. The 
juice flowed out profusely. If I had cut it open just as it 
came from the tree, not a drop would have fallen to the 
ground. I concluded that the sweet liquid had been care- 
fully put up in little cells, which composed the substance of 
the fruit, and which had safely retained it until my blows 
had broken them all away, so as to mingle their contents into 
one mass. I thought how busily the power of God was em- 
ployed every summer's day, in ten thousand orchards, carrying 
these juices into every tree, apportioning its proper share to 
every apple, and conveying each particle to its own minute, 
invisible cell. 

" Just then I saw before me, at a little distance, a cucum- 
ber vine, which had spread itself over the ground, and was 
clinging to every little sprig and pebble which came in its way. 
' How can its little tendrils find what they wish to clasp V 
thought I, as I stooped down to look at them. I observed 
that the tendrils which did not come into contact with any 
thing, were nearly or quite straight, though some of them had 
grown out to a considerable length. Every one however 
which touched any object, had curled toward it, and some 
had wound themselves round so many times, that they would 
break rather than relax their hold. How delicate must be 
the mechanism of fibers, so contrived that by the mere 
invitation of a touch, they should curl and grasp the object 
which is presented. 

" While looking at this, and observing that the origin of 
the tendril in the stem of the vine, was always at the ex- 
act place where a support would be most effectual, I no 



30 THE CORNER-STONE. 



The dew-drop. Its supports. Highly finished work. 

ticed a small "bright drop, which assumed, as I slightly 
changed my position, bright hues of orange, green, blue, and 
violet. It was a drop of dew, which lay in a little inden- 
tation of the leaf. I was admiring the admirable exactness 
of its form, and the brilliancy of its polished surface, and 
wondering at the laws of cohesion and of light, which could 
thus retain every particle in its precise position, and produce 
images so perfect, and yet so minute, as I saw reflected there, 
— when I accidentally touched the leaf, and the little world 
of wonders rolled away. The charm was broken at once ; 
it vanished upon the wet ground as if it had not been. The 
spot upon the leaf, where it had been lying for hours, was 
dry. Thousands of downy fibers, which God had fash- 
ioned there, had held it up, and similar fibers in countless 
numbers clothed every leaf, and every stem, and every ten- 
dril of the whole. I looked over the garden, and was lost in 
attempting to conceive of the immense number of these deli- 
cately fashioned fibers, which the all-pervading Deity had 
been slowly constructing there, during the months that had 
just gone by. And when I reflected that not only that gar- 
den, but the gardens and fields of all around me, — the 
verdure of the whole continent, — of the whole earth, — of 
unnumbered worlds besides, was all as exquisitely finished 
as this, the mind shrunk back from the vain effort to follow 
out the reflection." 

But enough. Such a narrative might be continued indefi- 
nitely, and the young Christian who will actually go forth 
to study God's character in garden and forest, and field, will 
find no end to his discoveries. And the very substances 
which are most common, and which he has been accustomed 
to look upon with the slightest interest, he will find teeming 
with the most abundant proofs of the Creator's benevolence 
and skill, and of the boundless resources of his power. Take, 



THE DEITi. 31 



W*ver. The fleecy cloud. Snow-storms and snow-flukes. 

for instance, water, which, as it lies before us in a bowl, ap- 
pears as simple, and as little mechanical in its structure, 
as any thing can possibly be ; and yet weeks would not be 
sufficient to describe its wonders. See it now gliding in a 
smooth and gentle current, on its course, over golden sands, 
enchaining us for hours upon its banks, to gaze upon its rip- 
pling surface, and into its clear depths, — and now rolling in 
the billows of the ocean, which toss, with terrific power, the 
proudest structures that men can frame, as easily as they do 
the floating sea-weed. Again, it assumes an invisible form, 
and the same particles, under a different law, float imper- 
ceptible in the atmosphere, or by their almost resistless re- 
pulsion, work the mightiest engines which man can construct. 
The Protean substance again appears to us in the form of 
a light fleecy cloud, sailing in the clear blue sky. And what 
is a cloud ? It presents only a surface of whiteness to the 
eye : but it is composed of countless drops, turned to their 
true spherical form with mathematical precision, and gently 
descending through the air, as fast as their superior weight 
can find its way. Every fleecy cloud is in fact a shower, with 
drops smaller indeed than those of rain, and descending more 
slowly, and consumed by the warm air below them, before 
they reach the earth. If we could see the gradual forma- 
tion and dissipation of such a drop, as particle after particle 
comes to increase it, or flies away, we should see the opera- 
tion of the Deity ; and when we think how many clouds and 
storms sweep over the sky, every minute globule of which 
must be formed under the hand of God, we shall see how 
boundlessly multiplied are the operations of his hands. 

But the half is not yet told. Come out in the snow-storm, 
and after surveying the vast extent of country buried in its 
wintry covering, look up into the sky, and estimate, if you 
can, the millions of descending flakes. Every one of these 
rlak?s, countless as they are, is formed and lashioned after its 



32 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Perfect workmanship. The bubble. Its structure. 

proper model. It is crystalized in a precise form, every par- 
ticle takes it precise place, every point of the beautiful star 
has its proper acuteness, and although in an hour a southern 
rain is to melt and destroy them all, still not one is neglected, 
not one is slighted, but every individual flake of all the mil- 
lions, is fashioned with as much exactness and care as if it 
was expressly intended for the examination of the chemist or 
philosopher. Now think of the vast fields of snoiv which 
whiten the arctic regions, — think of the eternal storms which 
sweep the polar skies, and which follow the retreating sun 
every season, far down toward his own peculiar climes, and 
conceive, if you can, the extent of the work, which the all- 
pervading Deity has continually to do. 

There is no end to the forms which this simple substance, 
water, assumes, in the changes through which the Deity 
carries it. I will mention one more, because it illustrates 
peculiarly the idea that the most common objects are the 
most extraordinary, if we really look at them with an ob- 
serving eye. It is the bubble ; one of the most surprising 
things in nature, and yet one at which nobody ever thinks of 
being surprised. 

In order that we may examine it more conveniently, let us 
imagine it to be enlarged, for it is plain that its character 
does not depend at all upon its size. Imagine it then to be 
enlarged ; suppose one, twenty feet in height, were to stand 
before you. What a magnificent dome ! Pure, transparent, 
glistening in the sun, and irised by a thousand hues, which 
float, and wave, and spread in graceful and ceaseless motion 
on its surface ! And yet this dome is built, by its architect, 
of what ? Of marble blocks, fitted into one another with the 
care which man must exercise to construct his arch or dome ? 
Of iron bars to strengthen the sides and sustain the summit ? 
No ; but of fluid particles, which glide and swim among 
each other, as if they had no connection whatever. Thev 



THE DEITY. 33 



Its wonderful mechanism. Intellectual and moral exhibitions. 

are bound together, firmly and exactly "balanced, and yet 
with such admirable skill, that every one is free to float and 
move where it will. The edifice is so strong, that if a heavy 
body falls upon it, it either glides down its side, or cleaves its 
summit ; and the magic structure safely withstands the shock. 
It regains in an instant its form, as true, as symmetrical and 
as perfect as before ; and yet, stable as it thus is, every stone 
in the edifice is in motion, and glides gracefully, and at per- 
fect liberty, among the rest. It is indeed a wonder. The 
laws of reflection and cohesion and equilibrium, which every 
bubble brings into play, it would require a volume to eluci- 
date, and yet the mighty operator, seeming to find pleasure 
in endless occupation, dashes them out in the utmost perfec- 
tion, under every water-fall ; by means of them he surmounts 
every one of the countless waves of ocean with its snowy 
crest, and whitens a hundred thousamd miles of sandy beach 
and rocky shore, with a perpetual fringe of foam. 

But after all, innumerable and wonderful as are these 
works of the Deity, these modes of acting out his attributes, 
there are far more interesting manifestations of his character. 
For, exciting and animating as are such glimpses as these 
of the workings cf the Almighty, it is only such attributes as 
skill, power, taste, invention, which are brought into view 
by them. They are most striking exhibitions it is true, but 
they are exhibitions of cold intellect only, after all. The 
splendor of the evening sky, the sublimity of a tempest, the 
exquisite delicacy of structure which we see in microscopic 
plants and animals, afTect us strongly, but it is little more 
than a philosophical interest in a power and a skill, so in- 
finitely varied in its designs, and so admirable in its execu- 
tion. 

But you can go much farther than this ; you can examine 
even in nature, the moral exhibitions of God's character, and 
as we pass from these examples of mere mechanism, to 



34 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



An imaginary walk in June. 



God is love. 



those which exhibit to us the moral feelings of the being 
who performs these works, our hearts are touched. I will 
take, to illustrate this, c ne of the lowest examples of what I 
mean. 

It is June. We 
walk out in some re- 
tired and uninhabited 
region, in the midst 
of the forests, and find 
all nature thronged 
with active and happy- 
life. Insects unnum- 
bered sport in the sun, 
or skip upon the bright 
surface of the lake. 
Nimble animals chase 
one another upon the 
branches of the trees, 
or hide in hollow 
summer. trunks, or gather nuts 

and fruits which fall 
around them, in inexhaustible profusion. And what is all 
this for ? Perhaps for hundreds of miles around, there is not 
a human habitation ; no human eye will witness this scene, 
and no human want will be supplied by any thing that it 
produces. What is it for ? What motive induces these 
efforts ? Why, it is because this mighty architect whose 
power is so great, and whose field is so boundless, loves to 
exercise that power in every corner of that wide-spread field, 
for the purpose of producing enjoyment. No person can look 
on such a scene, with any thing like proper views of it, with- 
out feeling a glow of new interest and warmer attachment 
toward its mighty Author. The mere proofs of power and 
contrivance and skill, in the specimens of mechanism which 




THE DEITY. 35 



The robin and his nest. . God's care of him. 

have been noticed, awaken strong intellectual interest ; — but 
it touches the heart, and awakens a deeper and warmer emo- 
tion there, when we see this architect, while actually carry- 
ing on the mighty mechanism of the heavens, still busily en- 
gaged in this secluded valley, filling thousands and millions 
of his creatures with enjoyment, as if taking pleasure in wit- 
nessing the frolics of an insect ; and drawing so copiously 
upon his stores of skill and power, to make a squirrel or a 
robin happy. 

The robin ; just look for a moment at his nest in the midst 
of this valley of peace. It is fixed securely in a cluster of 
branches, sheltered just enough by the foliage around, and in 
it are three or four tender, helpless, unfledged birds lying to- 
gether. The open air and the broad sky is over their heads ; 
nothing but the hanging leaf protects them from an enemy. 
They have no power to fly, no power to resist ; hunger is 
coming on and they can not provide food ; but they lie alone 
and helpless and weak, the very picture of defenselessness 
and exposure. 

But they are safe and happy. God makes them his care. 
They can not bear cold ; God has guarded them against it, 
by so poising the ponderous earth, and so carefully regulating 
its motions, that no nipping frost, and no storm of snow can 
possibly come to desolate their little dwelling. They can 
not defend themselves from violence or escape from it. True ; 
£ud God has so regulated the instincts and propensities of the 
n illions of living things around them, that they shall be ex- 
* jsed to none. They can not provide themselves with food, 
and it will take but very few hours to bring them to ex- 
cruciating suffering unless they are supplied. But they will 
be supplied. God has sent out his messengers to provide for 
them. One flies from tree to tree in a distant part of the 
forest, and the other perhaps hops upon the shore of the 
brook or pond. The trees around them are filled with thou- 



36 



111E CORNER-STONE. 



The pair. 



The scene changed. 



January. 



sands of other birds, alluring them by their songs, and brightei 
vales and more shady trees invite them to stay. But no. 
God has bound them to one another and to their helpless 
young, by a mechanism, as incomprehensible in its nature as 
it is beautiful in its results. It allows them to fly freely and 
unfettered as they choose, but it retains its indissoluble hold 
upon them wherever they go. Xo song of a stranger will 
make them forget their own ; no sunny bank or shady grove 
will have charms enough to detain them; but faithful. to 
their trust they toil industriously through the day, and un- 
less death or violence keep them away, they will be ready 
with their supply, when at night their helpless young open 
their mouths and cry for food. We can not comprehend the 
admirable mechanism by which these results are secured, but 
we love the character which our Father manifests in securing 
them. 

But let us change 
the scene. It is Janu- 
ary, and we walk out 
into the same forest, 
and look upon the 
same stream which in 
summer was the scene 
of so much life and ac- 
tivity and happiness. 
How changed ! Where 
are the insects now, 
which sported in the 
sunbeams, on the glassy 
surface of the water ? 
That surface is still 
winter. m°re glassy now,— 

solid and cold, — and 
over it scud the dry wreaths of snow before the bleak wind. 




THE DEITY. 37 



Plana for protection. The -winter home. 

Where are now the thousand forms of happy life, which en- 
livened every bank and fluttered from flower to flower ? 
Alas ! sunny hank and gay flower, and verdant turf are 
gone ! The deep snow clothes the whole surface of the 
ground, covering every smaller plant, and rising around the 
naked trunks of the tall trees, — hanging in wreaths over the 
banks, and fast accumulating, as the driving wintry storm 
brings on fresh supplies from God's inexhaustible treasuries. 
Where is that happy home among the branches of the tree ? 
The leaves which sheltered it are gone, a mass of drifting 
snow marks the spot where the desolate and forsaken habita- 
tion remains, and the cold dreary wind whistles through the 
naked branches around. 

We must remember, too, that it is not in this one spot 
alone, that this change, and this apparent exhaustion of life 
has taken place. For thousands of miles, in almost every 
direction, in June, life and activity and enjoyment were as 
abundant as in this little dell, and now over all this wide ex- 
tent winter has spread her reign of desolation and death. 
Has God left, is the very natural inquiry, — has God left all 
these millions of his creatures to be overwhelmed with, de- 
struction ? 

No ; scarcely one. He has secured and protected them 
all. Never did the most cautious husbandman lay in his 
stores, and prepare his clothing, and secure the warmth and 
tightness of his buildings with half the efficiency of foresight 
and care which God exhibits every autumn, in shutting up, 
in places of safety and protection, all the varieties of animal 
and vegetable life. The storm and the wintry cold are not 
allowed to come till he has given maturity and strength to 
the helpless birds, and sent them away to warmer climes. 
Other animals have, in obedience to an impulse of which 
they could not know the nature and design, been industriously 
employed during the summer, in laying in their winter stores ' 



38 THE CORNER-STONE. 

The chrysalis. The ant. God a father. 

and are now sheltered in holes, or hollow trunks, sleeping 
undisturbed in the midst of a plenty which God has provided 
for them. Even the insect tribes, so delicate and frail, are 
all safe. By a most admirable arrangement, generation suc- 
ceeds generation in such a way, that the animal life of a 
whole species exists in such a form at the approach of win- 
ter, that ice and cold and snow can produce neither injury 
nor pain. In these and in other ways, God has secured for 
all, protection, and exemption from suffering, and when the 
first wintry midnight storm roars through the forest, it finds 
every thing prepared for it. Every nest is empty, and its in- 
mates are safe in another clime. All insect existence is pro- 
tected, and the field-mouse, and even the little ant, are care- 
fully housed in their warm and sheltered and plentiful 
home. 

By such examinations as these, of God's works, we see 
that he is Love ; that he is not merely a cold contriver,, ex- 
hibiting in his works mechanical skill and power alone, but 
that he has feelings of affection, that he is susceptible of 
strong personal interest and attachment. It gives us great 
intellectual gratification to look at the exhibitions of his mere 
invention and power, but it touches our hearts, and awakens 
a deep and warm feeling there, when we see this skill and 
power brought into requisition to secure the protection and 
happiness of even the lowest creatures that he has formed. 
The inference is irresistible, that he who takes so much pains 
to bring to every unfledged robin or sparrow its daily sup- 
plies of food, can not be indifferent to our protection and hap- 
ness. It must be that he considers us of more value than 
many sparrows. 

In studying the character however of the great unseen 
Power which pervades the universe, you must not look exclu- 
sively at those kind and gentle aspects of it, which we have 
been exhibiting. God is a magistrate as well as a father 



THE DEITY. 39 



A magistrate too. _ System. 

It is the part of the magistrate to act on system, and to be 
firm and decided in sustaining system and law. Plans must 
be formed with reference to the general good, and these plans 
must be steadily pursued, even at the occasional expense of 
great individual suffering. The wider the field, the more 
extensive the community, and the more lasting and moment- 
ous the interests involved, the greater is the necessity of this 
determined firmness on the part of the magistrate upon 
whom the responsibility devolves. If now you wish to make 
out for yourself a Deity such as may suit your own weakness 
or timidity 7 , you will pass 'over this part of God's character ; 
but if you wish for truth, — if you really wish to understand 
what sort of a Power it is that holds the reins of government 
over us all, you will not allow this aspect of his character 
to pass unexamined. 

Wherever we look, then, whether to nature or revelation, 
or to that more distinct manifestation of his character 
which the invisible Supreme has made to us in the person 
of Jesus Christ, we shall find the most overwhelming, and 
sometimes appalling proofs, that God acts upon system ; — 
that he has planned a system, both of physical and moral 
law, with reference to the greatest good of the greatest num- 
ber, and that this system he will sustain, with the most 
determined and persevering decision. I shrink from coming 
to this part of my subject. Many of my readers, without 
doubt, who have followed me with all their hearts, in the 
pictures of God's character which have been exhibited so 
far, will hang back reluctant from what remains. But we 
must know the whole. We must endeavor to understand 
fully the character of the great Being with whom we have 
to do. 

If then we look at the manifestations of Jehovah's char- 
acter which he has made, and is making, in nature all 
around us, you will find, as I said above, that he acts upon 



40 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Firmness and decision. The suffering child. Its mother. 

system, and that he will pursue the plan which public good 
requires, firmly and efficiently, even at the expense of great 
individual suffering. Let me first illustrate this, in regard 
to a mere physical law. 

You are studying God's character, I will suppose, in what 
you see of his works, and as you pass by some usually quiet 
and happy dwelling, your attention is attracted by piercing 
cries from within, apparently coming from a child and indi- 
cating acute suffering. You enter to ascertain the cause, 
and find that a little infant, just learning to delight its 
parents' hearts by its opening faculties of speech and reason, 
has fallen into the fire, and is dreadfully burned. The poor 
child cries piteously, and extends its arms to its parents for 
relief. It has never before known a pain ivhich they could 
not either relieve or mitigate, and its look of anguish seems 
to upbraid them for not rescuing it now. Its agonized 
parents, suffering even more than the child, look this way 
and that for help, but in vain. The injury is too deep 
to be repaired. Hour after hour, nay day after day, the 
intense suffering continues, until fever and delirium close 
the sad scene. 

Close it, did I say ? "No. The child sleeps, but memory 
does not sleep in the breast of its half-distracted mother. 
For weeks and months her eyes will fill with tears, and 
her heart will almost burst, as she looks upon the deserted 
little cradle, or the now useless toy. Those heart-rending 
cries and dying struggles are perpetuated in her mind by 
faculties which God has planted there ; and the recollec- 
tion will for months and years haunt her by day, and 
terrify her in midnight dreams. 

All this follows from the accident of a moment, for which 
no one was to blame. There is but one Power in existence 
who could arrest these consequences, after the occurrence of 
the cause. And will he do it ? Will he interpose and 



THE DEITY. 41 



Physical law sustained. God's determined decision. General laws. 

stop the torture, and heal the wound, and bring relief and 
happiness once more to the distracted family ? Or will he 
remain calmly by, leaving the laws of matter and of mind 
to work out in such a case their awful consequences to 
the full ? 

The question does not need an answer. He has estab- 
lished laws in regard to the nature and effects of lire, upon 
the human frame, and the connection of bodily injury with 
bodily suffering, and the principles which regulate the move- 
ments of the human heart, which he sees are best on the 
whole. These laws he has established. He sees that it is 
best that they should be liable to no exceptions and no un- 
certainty in their course, and he accordingly will carry them 
through. Men sometimes exhibit some good degree of firm- 
ness and decision in carrying out a plan which is on the 
whole for the best ; but if we will look around us at the 
works of Providence, that invite our examination on every 
side, we shall see that God does not hesitate to go, in the 
execution of his laws, where the firmest and most decided 
Luii would shrink from following. 

Perhaps some persons may object to such a view of our 
Maker's character ; but if they do, it seems impossible to 
avoid the conclusion that it is the character itself that they 
object to, and not to any thing peculiar in this mode of 
presenting it. These are facts which I have been exhibiting, 
not theories. They are common facts, too, that is, the cas& 
which I have chosen as an illustration is one that not un- 
frequently occurs, exactly as I have described it, and it is 
moreover a fair specimen of thousands and tens of thou- 
sands of occurrences which are precisely analogous to it in 
their nature, and which are constantly taking place in the 
view of every observer. JNFor can there be any doubt of the 
explanation I have given. That God has ordained these 
general laws no one can doubt or deny. That he might 



42 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Moral law. The wretched dwelling. The interior. 

arrest or suspend their operation in individual cases if he was 
inclined to do so, is equally unquestionable ; and his allow- 
ing them to work their way through so much misery, is 
proof clear and undeniable as demonstration, that though 
he loves happiness and is continually forming plans to secure 
it for millions and millions of his creatures, he can still 
firmly and steadily witness individual suffering, when neces- 
sary, and that he will do it, rather than sacrifice the general 
good by violating law. 

We shall see this still more clearly and its effects are still 
more terrible, in regard to the operations of moral law. I 
mean law relating to the moral conduct of men. If we 
really wish to know what God's actual character is, as he 
exhibits it in what he does, we shall take special interest in 
observing what he does in cases of guilt. 

On the side of a bleak and barren hill half a mile from 
the village in which you reside, stands a miserable house, 
or rather hovel, which has often attracted your attention 
in your walks, by its ruinous and dilapidated condition, and 
the pale, sickly, wretched children which shiver at the door. 
Did you ever consider what sort of a scene its interior usually 
presents, at night ? Come with me and see. 

The inner door hanging by a single hinge opens creak- 
ingly, and the cold, empty, miserable apartment, presents to 
yoji an expression of wretchedness far more gloomy than 
even the exterior had led you to expect. The sickly, worn- 
out wife and mother is trying in vain to make out, from 
former remnants, some food for herself and her half-starved 
children. They sit around the room, or hover over the 
embers, in a half stupor. They do not cry. The extreme 
of misery is silent, and these wretched ones are beyond tears, 
She is hurrying through her work to get the children away 
from an approaching danger. What is that danger, which 
she does not dare that they should meet with her ? Why 



THE DEITY. 43 



Misery. The father's return. Unpunished guilt, and suffering innocence. 

their father is coming home. If it was the lightning, or a 
tornado, or a midnight assassin, she would gather her chil- 
dren around her, and they would feel safer and happier 
together. But their father is coming home, and the uncon- 
trollable passions of an insane husband and father, she 
chooses to bear alone. She sends her children away. She 
hides her babe in the most secret place she can find ; — : in a 
corner an emaciated, shivering boy crawls into something 
like a bed, and spreads over his limbs the thin covering 
which is all that is left for clothing, and then draws himself 
up, as if trying to shrink away from the cold ; and per- 
haps a girl, by a choice of miseries, has pleaded for permis- 
sion to stay with her mother. 

All this is however the mere prelude, — the preparation, 
anticipating the scene of real misery which the return of the 
abandoned husband and father is to bring. But here I must 
stop ; for if I were to describe the scene which ensues, just as 
it is actually exhibited in thousands and tens of thousands of 
families all over England and America, every night, my 
readers would lay down the book, sick at heart, at the con- 
templation of the guilt and miseries of man. 

But the point that I am wishing to bring to view in all 
this case, is this. How firmly and steadily will Jehovah go 
on, night after night, for months and years, and allow the 
wretched sinner in this case to drink all the bitter dregs of 
the cup he chooses, and to bring down its dreadful effects 
upon his helpless wife and children. Ts"ay we may go further 
back. For all this misery is primarily caused by a poison 
which another man supplies ; he deals it out — a daily potion 
of death — and while his own head is sheltered, and his own 
fireside safe from its effects, he is permitted by Providence to 
go on for years, sending these streams of misery into many 
families all around him. Why does not God interpose to 
arrest this vice and suffering ? Why does he not shelter this 



44 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Unpunished guilt. Penalties. Language of the Bible. 

wretched wife, and warm and feed these perishing but inno- 
cent children ? — innocent at least of the causes of their misery. 
Why does he not by a change in the constitution of nature 
destroy the possibility of making a poison so excruciating in 
its effects ? There can be but one answer. He sees that it 
is on the whole for the best, that man should be left free to 
sin if he will, and that the nature of sin should be shown by 
allowing it to work out undisturbed its own awful results to 
all connected with the sinner. These plans of his govern- 
ment he has the firmness to carry out, — though every year 
they cut down thousands of wretched wives and starved chil- 
dren. The man who chooses to send firebrands, arrows, and 
death around him, has under the government of God an op- 
portunity to do so. The door is wide open. And the help- 
less and innocent wife and children must take the conse- 
quences. But oh, thou forlorn and broken-hearted mother, 
be of good courage. Thou art not forgotten, though fixed laws 
must take their course. Thou shalt have a hearing in due time. 

Such cases as the above, are rather cases of moral arrange- 
ments carried out firmly to their end, than examples of the 
execution of the penalties of a moral law. I do not bring 
forward cases of the latter kind, because they are familiar to 
every one, and most certainly if God does not shrink from indi- 
vidual suffering, when it is necessary to sustain the uniform- 
ity of material processes, or to carry out the moral opera- 
tions of his general system, who can imagine that he will fail 
in the energy of his government, in regard to the conse- 
quences of personal guilt. The Bible speaks on this subject 
in language so terrible, that men shrink from repeating it ; 
but nature speaks all around us more emphatically and more 
terribly still.* 

* We must not suppose from these facts, that the Deity is guided, 
in the government of the world, by general laws, which, though on the 



THE DEITY: 45 



Leading traits of the Divine character. 



As I have already remarked, it would not be surprising if 
some of my readers were to shrink hack from these views 
of the determined decision which God manifests in carrying 
out to the end, all these arrangements which he has once 
deliberately adopted for the ultimate good of all. "We can 
not deny, however, that the history of God's dealings with 
men is full of such examples as we have presented, and that 
if we really and honestly wish to know what is his char- 
acter, and what principles do really govern his conduct, 
such cases deserve a most attentive consideration. He who 
wishes to frame for himself an imaginary Deity, suited to 
his own limited views and narrow conceptions, will probably 
shut his eyes against them. "We however wish to know the 
truth, whatever it may be, and if we attempt to study 
God's character as it is exhibited in those manifestations 
of himself, which he makes in his daily providence, we shall 
find everywhere inscribed in blazing characters, U:\ bound- 
ed POWER AND SKILL ; UNIVERSAL AND INEXTINGUISHABLE 

love ; and Inflexible firmness in the execution of 

LAW. 

We have thus far exhibited the mode by which you are 
to study the character of our great Magistrate and Father, 
by his acts ; and this mode of study, you will observe, is 
essentially the same, whether you read the record of his acts 
contained in the Bible, or observe them in the histories of 
nations and individuals, or in the occurrences of common life. 
All these, however, constitute but one mode by which the 
Deity manifests himself to men. There are two others 

whole useful and salutary, are, in individual cases, mischievous and 
only to be tolerated because they effect on the whole, more good than 
eviL These laws of nature, even in those cases where, to the eye of 
man, they produce nothing but evil, are in reality as truly intended and 
calculated to produce good, as in the other cases where the good is 
manifest and direct. 



46 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Second manifestation. The Holy Spirit. Contrasts of character. 

which I must briefly allude to here, though they will be 
more fully brought to view in the future chapters of this 
work. 

The second great manifestation of the Deity which is made 
to us, is in the exertion of a direct power upon the human 
heart. In all the ages of the world, there have been remark- 
able exceptions to the prevailing selfishness and sin which 
generally reign among mankind. These exceptions occur in 
the earlier history contained in the Bible ; and were it not 
for the light which Christianity throws upon the subject, they 
w T ould be almost unaccountable. Cain and Abel, for ex- 
ample, took entirely different courses in reference to their 
duties toward God. Love, gratitude, and reverence seem to 
have reigned in the heart of one, while a cold, heartless, and 
selfish worship was all that the other rendered. Here is an 
extraordinary difference among beings of the same species 
possessing the same native powers and propensities, and 
placed in substantially the same circumstances. 

Noah listened to the warning voice of God, while all the 
rest of the world gave themselves up to sin. "Why should 
this be so ? Worldly pleasure, we might have suppoosed, 
would have been as alluring to him as to others, and the dis- 
position to obey and fear their Maker as strong in others as 
in him. But it was not so. He stood alone ; and how shall 
the moral phenomenon of his solitary virtue amid universal 
degeneracy and vice be explained ? 

So in a multitude of other cases. The narratives with 
which the Old Testament is filled seem designed to exhibit 
to us contrasts. A few individuals, with hearts filled with 
filial affection toward God, form the bright parts of the pic- 
ture, and the natural character of selfishness and sin, acting 
in different circumstances, but in all working out the same 
bitter fruits, exhibit abundantly the darker shades. Why 
should this be so ? Why should Abraham find in himself a 



THE DEITY. 47 



Influences of the Spirit. Testimony of the Bible ; of witnesses. 

willingness to obey God, and to deal kindly and justly with 
man, while ungodliness, injustice and cruelty reigned almost 
all around him. Why was Joseph pure and spotless, — con- 
scientious, just and forgiving ? His brothers were men of 
violence and blood. Why, in such a family should there be 
such an exception ? 

Similar examples have been always occurring, and the 
Bible exhibits them as the effects of a peculiar operation of 
the Holy Spirit, as it is termed, upon the human heart, — a 
mysterious operation, powerful in its results, but incompre- 
hensible in its nature. This you will observe is a manifesta 
tion of the Divinity entirely different from those to which we 
have- already alluded. In the works of creation and provi- 
dence, Jehovah himself acts, and from the nature of his ac- 
tions we learn his character. In his direct power over moral 
agents, he mysteriously mingles his influences with their 
moral powers, so as to lead them to act, and by the charac- 
ter of the results, we likewise in this case learn his character. 
They are however two modes of manifesting the powers and 
character of the Deity, which are very dissimilar. 

This class of moral effects are not only in the Bible ascribed 
to an influence from above, but they have always been so 
attributed by the individuals themselves. Good men, in all^ 
ages, have always understood, and have been eager to ac- 
knowledge their dependence upon a higher power, for all 
that is good in their hearts. They have differed exceedingly 
in their modes of expressing it, but they have agreed sub- 
stantially as to the fact. It has always been easy for an an- 
tagonist to run them into difficulty and perplexity in defend- 
ing the opinion ; still they have clung unceasingly to it ; or 
returned to it again and again when torn away ; and go 
where you will, among mankind, wherever you find holiness 
of heart, and real moral virtue, you will find their possessor 
ascribing them to a mysterious but all-powerful influence 



I 



48 THE CORNER-STONE. 

United testimony. The Son. Seeing face to face. 

from above. It is so with the refined and cultivated intellect 
in the most elevated Christian community, and it is so with 
the humblest, lowest savage that ever bowed before his Maker 
to confess and to abandon his sins. It was so in former times 
with David and with Paul, and it is so now with every lonely- 
widow, who, in God finds consolation and even happiness in 
the midst of her tears ; and with every sick child, who, re- 
newed by the Holy Spirit, finds such peace with God that he 
can smile at death, and welcome the grave. 

A more full consideration of this subject we must reserve ; 
we only allude to it here, in order to bring distinctly forward 
in its place, the fact that there is this, among the other 
modes, by which the great unseen power manifests himself to 
men. 

There is one other ; which we have already alluded to, — 
that more direct and personal exhibition of himself which 
God has made in Jesus Christ his son. Here God, for the 
first time, shows himself to men, openly and without a veil. 
Here we see the moral attributes of divinity in living and 
acting reality. In those other manifestations of himself 
which he has made, " we see through a glass darkly, but 
here face to face." When he acts in his providence, or in 
the mysterious and secret agency of his Spirit in human 
hearts, we must pause and reflect, in order to come to con- 
clusions ; we must trace back causes to effects, and infer the 
principles which must have guided them. But when the 
great Unseen assumes our own human nature, when he be- 
comes flesh, and dwells among us, his attributes and perfec- 
tions come out into open day. 

Such are the three great manifestations of himself to men, 
which the one unseen all-pervading essence has made, as ex- 
hibited to us in the Bible, and in our own experience and ob- 
servation. Though there have been interminable disputes in 
the Christian church about the language which has been em- 



THE DEITY. 49 



Studying God's character. True mode. " Approaching the Deity. 

ployed to describe these facts, there has been comparatively 
little dispute among even nominal Christians about the facts 
themselves. I have endeavored in describing them to go 
just as far as the Bible goes, and no farther, and to use as 
nearly as possible the expressions which are furnished us in 
that sacred volume. 

These views, my readers will perceive, open a very wide 
field to be explored in studying the character of God. Many 
young persons, when they hear of this study, form no idea of 
any thing more than committing to memory a few passages 
of Scripture, or learning by rote the summary views of some 
theological writer. But you see that all nature and all reve- 
lation, the whole field of observation, and of experience, and 
all the records of history are full of materials. Go, then, and 
take no man's opinion upon trust, but study the character of 
God for yourselves by seeing what he does. 

There is one thing more to be said, before I close this chap- 
ter. Many persons feel a difficulty in determining how to 
ipproach the Deity in prayer. "What conception," you 
ask-, " shall we form, of the Being whom we address ?" 

The unseen Divinity itself, in its purely spiritual form, we 
can not conceive of ; they who attempt to do it will find on a 
careful analysis of the mental operation, that it is the visible 
universe itself, that they picture to their minds, when in 
prayer they endeavor to form an abstract conception of the 
Deity which pervades it. Others in imagination look up- 
ward, and form a confused and an absurd idea of a monarch 
on a throne of gold, adorned with crown and scepter, and 
sitting in a fancied region which they call heaven. This is 
a delusion which we have already endeavored to dispel. 
Driven from this imagination, the soul roams throughout the 
universe among suns and stars, or over the busy surface of 
the earth, seeking in vain for some conceivable image of the 

C 



£0 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Access by Jesus Christ. Conclusion. 

Deity, some form on which the thoughts can rest, and to- 
ward which the feelings can concentrate. It looks however 
in vain. God manifests himself indeed in the blazing sun, 
the fiery comet, — and in the, verdure and bloom of the bound- 
less regions of the earth ; but these are not the avenues 
through which a soul burdened with its sins, would desire to 
approach its Maker. The gospel solves the difficulty. " It 
/*Ts by Jesus Christ that we have access to the Father." This 
vivid exhibition of his character, this personification of his 
moral attributes opens to us the way. Here we see a mani- 
festation of divinity, an image of the invisible God which 
comes as it were down to us ; it meets our feeble faculties 
with a personification exactly adapted to their wants, so that 
the soul, when pressed by the trials and difficulties of its con- 
dition, when overwhelmed with sorrow, or bowed down by 
remorse, or earnestly longing for holiness, will pass by all the 
other outward exhibitions of the Deity, and approach the in- 
visible supreme, through that manifestation of himself which 
he has made in the person of Jesus Christ, his son, our 
Savior. 



THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 51 

The Savior's first words. His last words. 



CHAPTER II. 

THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 
" Leaving us an example that ye should walk in his stepa." 

The very first words of our Savior, which have been pro- 
served for us. contain an expression of the great leading prin- 
ciple which regulated his whole life. " I must be about my 
Father's business" His last words, too, show, that thirty 
years of fatigue, and danger, and suffering, did not extinguish 
his zeal in this his work. "Go ye into all the world and 
preach the Gospel to every creature" He came into the 
world to do something, not for himself, hut for his Father, 
and he devoted himseif to it entirely. He was continually _ 
engaged in this work, while he remained here — going from 
place to place, and encountering continual hardship and dan- 
ger and suffering ; and all without any reference to his own — 
selfish interests, but regarding solely the work which he had/^ 
to do for the salvation of men. And at last, when he left the 
world, his final charge to his disciples was, that they should 
be faithful and persevering in carrying forward the work 
which he had thus earnestly begun. 

In fact Jesus Christ was so entirely devoted to his Father's 
business while he was upon earth, that half the readers of 
his fife do not imagine that he had any personal feelings or 
desires of his own. But we must not forget, that he was 
a man, possessed of all the feelings, and exposed to all the^ 
temptations of men. He might have formed the scheme of 



&2 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Perfection. Common illusion. Real claims of Christianity. 

being a Napoleon, if he had chosen to do so. The world was 
before him. He had the opportunity, and so far as we can 
understand the mysterious description of his temptation, he 
was urged to make the attempt. 

/ It is surprising how much the example of Christ loses its 
power over us, simply on account of the absolute perfection 
of it. If he had been partly a lover of pleasure, if he had 
for instance built himself a splendid mansion, and ornamented 
his grounds, and devoted some portion of his time to selfish 
enjoyment there ; or if he had entered into political life, and 
given a share of his attention to promoting his own honor, 
v/e might perhaps have felt that he was more like one of us : 
and if then he had torn himself away from these temptations, 
so as finally to have devoted his chief time and attention to 
the glory of God and the good of men, the example which he 
would thus have set for us, would have seemed perhaps more 
within our reach. The selfish and worldly spirit, which he 
would have exhibited, would, as it were, have made his case 
come home to us, and then whatever fidelity and zeal he 
might have shown in his Father's work, would have allured 
us to an imitation of it. But as it is, since he gave himself 
lip icholly to his duty, since he relinquished the world alto- 
gether, Christians seem to think, that his bright example is 
only to a very limited extent an example for them. But we 
must remember, as I said before, that Jesus Christ was a 
man. His powers were human powers. His feelings were 
human feelings, and his example is strictly and exactly an 
example for all the world. Yet how few consider it in this 
light. Christians admit indeed that the general principles 
which regulate his conduct ought to regulate theirs ; but 
then the most that they generally think of attempting is to 
follow in his steps slowly and hesitatingly, and at a great 
distance behind. 

And there is nothing in which the example of Christ takes 



THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 53 



Mohammedanism. Paganism. - The worldly man. 

less hold of men, than in this leading principle of his conduct, 
— devotedness to his Father's business. How perfectly evi 
dent it is, that a very large proportion of professing Christians 
are doing their own business in this world, and not their 
Father's. In fact so universal is this sin, that there are great 
numbers of nominal Christians who have no idea, no concep- 
tion whatever, of the. ground which Christianity takes in 
regard to a man's duty. Christianity stands in fact, in - 
this respect, strikingly distinct from every other religion. 
Mohammedanism leaves men to pursue their own objects, — 
to live for themselves, — only it prescribes some rules regu- 
lating the modes by which these aims shall be pursued. 
So does paganism, — so did ancient philosophy, — so does 
modern infidelity. Whatever moral rules all these systems 
prescribe, are rules to regulate our pursuits, while the nature 
and objects of them remain unchanged. But Christianity 
does no such thing. It comes with far higher claims, — it is. 
no mere regulator of the machinery of human life. It comes 
to change the plan and objects of that machinery alto- 
gether. 

Look at the history of a man engrossed in the world. 
He saw when he was young, that wealth gave consideration 
and influence to its possessor, and he felt a feverish sort of 
pleasure when he received the first hundred dollars which he 
earned. He resolved to become rich, and in his eagerness to 
go on, he gradually became less and less scrupulous about the 
means of advancing. He violated no laws ; he exposed him- 
self to no public disgrace, but he resorted to those means so 
well known to men of the world, by which he could increase 
his own stores at the expense of the rights or the happiness of 
others ; and by these means he has at length acquired a for- 
tune. He usually attends public worship on the Sabbath. 
It would be disreputable not to do so. But in the morning 
and evening, at his own private apartment, he will post his 



04 THE CORNER-STONE. 



His character and habits. Seriousness. He Is changed. 

books, or look over his accounts, or plan his voyages. There 
is nothing publicly disreputable in this. 

He is not a profane man ; — not at all, in his own opinion. 
It is true that sometimes, when excited, he will make use of 
what he acknowledges to be an improper expression, but men 
will make allowances for this. He does not do it to such an 
extent as to injure his character. 

He does not worship God in his family. He has no 
objection to religious observances, but he has no taste for 
them ; and then, besides, he has not time. In order to carry 
on his plans, it is necessary for him to go early to his count- 
ing-room, and at night he is fatigued and exhausted, and 
wishes for rest. As to the answer which he shall make, 
when, at last, God shall summon him to account for the im- 
mortal soul intrusted to his care, he never thinks of it. No. 
He plans however very wisely for the design which he has in 
.view. His object is to make a fortune, and he is taking a 
most judicious and successful course to accomplish it. It is 
no part of his design to please God, or to do good to men ; — 
to save his own soul, or to prepare for a happy meeting with 
his children in heaven. This is not his business, and of 
course he does not attend to it. 

As, however, he advances in life, he begins to think some- 
times more seriously. His minister brings to his view an 
approaching judgment, and explains the strictness of God's 
law, so that his conscience begins to trouble him. He 
perceives that though his mode of life has been perfectly 
eputable among men, still it must be considered somewhat 
.rregular when tested by the requirements of the law of 
God. His children begin to be ungovernable and dissipated 
as they grow up, and one of them comes, under very melan- 
choly circumstances, to an untimely end. He is troubled. 
In short he resolves to reform. He banishes all business 
from the Sabbath except that when the sermon does not 



THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 55 

His great business. His final account. . Consequences. 

particularly interest him he can not help sometimes thinking" 
a little of his voyages or his sales. He becomes more scrupu- 
lous about infringing upon his neighbor's rights, or taking an 
unfair advantage of their necessities. He establishes morning 
and evening prayers in his family, and though he does not 
always think of the Being whom he is addressing, he always 
regularly addresses him, in words, and there is generally in 
his mind at the time a feeling of reverence and awe, and a 
sort of vague impression that he is really speaking to the 
Supreme. He becomes a benevolent man too. That is, 
when an application is made for charity, he gives as much 
as he thinks will be expected of him. 

In a word, there is a great change hi his character. It is 
true he is still pursuing the same great objects as before, but 
then Christianity has come in to regulate the mode of his 
pursuing them. And he goes on for the rest of his days, 
making his fortune on much better principles, and in much 
better ways, than in the early part of his life. Still, making 
his fortune is his business. The ultimate object for which 
he lives and acts is to get money into his possession. Every 
thousand dollars that he obtains, he invests ha. the most safe 
and profitable mode which he can command, and looks upon 
it as so much done, — accomplished. And when at last he 
comes to die, and on his death-bed looks over his past life, 
all the satisfaction that he can have will be, in reflecting, 
that though making his fortune has been the object of his 
life, he has neverthless made the last half of it in the most 
unexceptionable manner. 

Now is such a man a follower of Jesus Christ ? Is mak- 
ing a fortune for himself his Father's business ? No ; when 
he appears before God in judgment, he must expect to be 
addressed thus, " Did you not know that you were stationed 
on earth to do good ; to turn men to God, to set an example 
of devoted attachment to his cause ; to relieve suffering and 



56 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Samuel's business. How a child may imitate tho Savio?. 

promote human happiness, as the great objects of your life ? 
All this was distinctly explained to you, and that you might 
perfectly understand it, you had the example of Jesus Christ, 
your Savior, who spent a life on earth in the most trying 
circumstances, for the very purpose of showing how much is 
meant by the command that men should serve God while 
they live, and not themselves. You were distinctly and 
emphatically told, that you were not your own, that you 
had been bought with a price, and were bound to live and 
act as a steward, an agent, a servant. But you have not 
done so. Instead of it, you have taken possession, in your 
own name, of the means of influence and of usefulness, all of 
which were put into your hands to be used for God. You 
have had your trial, and it has resulted in your deliberate 
and final choice to act for yourself, and not for your Maker. 

Let us look at another case. Samuel is a little boy, eight 
years old. He has really become a Christian, and desires 
accordingly to do his duty, and his whole duty. Do you 
wish to know Samuel what it is ? If you look into the Bible, 
to your Savior, for an example, you will see that the first 
principle of action which he announced was, that he was 
doing his Father's business. But you say perhaps that he 
was sent from heaven to do a great work here, which you 
can not do. "I can not go," you say, " from place to place, 
preaching the gospel and working miracles, and giving sight 
to the blind and healing the sick. I would do it if I could.'' 1 

It is true you can not do that. That is, you can not do 
your Father's business in the same way precisely, that Christ 
did it. Or, to explain it more fully, God has a great deal 
of business to be done in this world, and it is of various kinds, 
and the particular portion allotted to each person depends 
upon the circumstances in which each one is placed. You 
can not do exactly what Christ did while he was here, but 
you can do what he would have done had he been in your 



THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 57 



The glory of God, Acting as a steward. 

place. You can not make a "blind man happy by restoring 
his sight, but you can make your little sister happy by help- 
ing her up kindly when she has fallen dawn ; and that last 
is your Father's business as much as the other. His business 
here is to make every one happy, and to relieve every one's 
Buffering. You can not. persuade great multitudes of men 
to love and obey God, as Christ endeavored to do. but you 
may lead your brothers and sisters to him, by your silent 
influence and happy example. So you can bear sufferings 
patiently, and take injuries meekly, and thus exhibit the 
character which God desires that men should everywhere 
see. The light which you thus let shine may be a feeble 
light, and it may illuminate only a narrow circle around you ; 
but if it is the light of genuine piety, it will be hi fact the 
glory of God ; and if it is your great object to let this light 
shine, you are about your Father's business as truly as Jesus 
was, when he preached to the thronging multitude, or 
brought Lazarus from the tomb. Yes ; if a little child is 
making it his great aim to do good, by making his parents, 
his brothers and sisters, and his playmates happy, for the 
sake of co-operating with God. he is following the example 
of Christ. 

It is very difficult for an observer to know whether an 
individual is acting for God or for himself. A Christian 
merchant, for instance, who feels that he holds a stewardship, 
will be as industrious, as enterprising, and as persevering 
in his plans as any other merchant. Only he acts as agent, 
while the other acts as principal. So a boy may be amiable and 
gentle and kind without any regard to God, or any desire to carry 
on his plans. But God sees very clearly who is working for 
him, and who is not ; and there is not one. and there never has 
been one, in any age, who, if he had been inclined to enter 
God's service, would not have found enough to do for him, 
had he been disposed to do it. The example of Jesus Christ 

c* 



58 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Worldliness. Love of furniture. Dress. 

in this respect is an example for all mankind. It is intended 
for universal imitation, and they who pass through life with- 
out imitating it, must find themselves condemned when they 
come to their account. 

And how strange it is, that there should be found so very 
few willing to do the work of God in this world. Even of 
those few, most, instead of entering into it heart and soul, 
do just enough to satisfy what they suppose to be the expec- 
tations of their Christian brethren. A lady will spend her 
life, engrossed with such objects of interest as new furniture, 
and fashionable dress, and the means of securing the admi- 
ration of others, for herself or her children. She thinks for 
days and weeks of procuring some new article of furniture, 
not for comfort or convenience, but for show ; and when at 
last the long-expected acquisition is made, she is pleased and 
delighted, as if one of the great objects of her existence had 
been accomplished. She spends hours in deciding upon the 
color or texture of a ribbon, which as soon as it is chosen 
will begin to fade, and after a very brief period fall into 
contempt and be rejected; or she pursues, month after 
month, and year after year, what she calls the pleasures of 
society, which pleasures are often a compound of pride, 
vanity, envy, jealousy, and ill-will. Her husband, perhaps, 
in the mean-time devotes himself to pursuits equally un- 
worthy an immortal mind. They do good occasionally, as 
opportunities occur, and call themselves Christians ; but they 
seem to have no idea, that God has any great work in life 
for them to do. 

Has he work for them to do ? Yes ; there is a world to 
be restored to holiness and happiness, and he asks their help 
in doing it. He has put their children almost completely in 
their power, so that the eternal happiness of these children 
might be almost certainly secured, and has given them con- 
nections with society, of which they might avail themselves 



THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 59 



rhe work of God. Low pursuits. 

in working most efficiently for him. If they would take hold 
of this enterprise, they would have some elevated and enno- 
bling object before them. They would see, one after another, 
those connected with them, returning to God. They would 
see their children growing up in piety. Every night, they 
would feel that they had been living during the day for God ; 
and whatever might be their difficulties and trials, they 
would be relieved from all sense of responsibility and care. 
Instead of feeling gloomy and sad, as their children were 
gradually separated from them, or were one by one removed 
by death, and as they themselves were gradually drawing 
toward the close of life, they would find their interest in their 
great business growing stronger and stronger as they ap- 
proached the change which would bring them more directly 
into connection with their Father. 

The offer, on the part of our Maker, to take us into his 
service, in this world, is in fact the only plan which can give 
human life any real dignity, or substantial value. Without 
it all human employments are insignificant, all pleasure is 
insipid, and life is a sterile waste, void of verdure or bloom. 
Without this, there is an entire disproportion between the 
lofty powers and capacities of human nature, and the low 
pursuits and worthless objects which are before it in its pres- 
ent home. An immortal spirit, capable of thoughts which 
explore the universe, and of feelings and desires reaching 
forward to eternity, spending life in seeing how many pieces 
of stamped metal it can get together ! a mind made in the 
Lmage of God, and destined to live as long as he, buried for 
years in thoughts abont the size and beauty of a dwelling 
which is all the time going to decay, or about the color and 
fashion of dress, or the hues and carvings of rose- wood or 
mahogany ! 

But let no one understand me to condemn the enjoyments, 
which come to us through the arts and refinements of life. 



60 THE CORNER-STONE. 

The arts and refinements of life. The Savior's character. 

It is making these things the great object of existence, — it ia 
the eager pursuit of them, as the chief business of life, which 
the example of our Savior and the principles of the gospel 
condemn. These arts and refinements are intended to add 
to human happiness. They will make the most rapid pro- 
gress in those countries where Christianity most perfectly 
prevails. Jesus Christ had a love for beauty, both of nature 

"^"^and art ; he admired the magnificent architecture of the 
temple, and deeply lamented the necessity of its overthrow, 

— ^#nd his dress was at least of such a character, that the dis- 
posal of it was a subject of importance to the well-paid sol- 
diers who crucified him. Yes, the universal reign of Chris- 
tianity will be the reign of taste, and refinement, and the 
arts ; but while the enjoyments of men will be increased in 
a tenfold degree from these and other sources, their hearts 
will be set far less on them, than they are now. These en- 
joyments will be recreations by the way, to cheer and refresh 
those whose hearts are mainly bent on accomplishing the ob- 
jects of their Father in Heaven. 

I have dwelt longer, perhaps, on this subject than I ought 
to have done. This book, though its subject is Christian 
truth, is intended to throw as strong a light as possible on 
Christian duty, and in considering this, the first great trait of 
our Savior's character which presents itself to view, I could 
not avoid asking my reader to pause a moment to consider 
what he himself is really living for. 

# 
-^JBiit let us return to the example of our Savior. 

Jesus Christ was in some respects the most bold, energetic, 

decided, and courageous man that ever lived ; but in dthers, 

he was the most flexible, submissive, and yielding ; and in 

the conceptions which many persons form of his character, 

there is a degree of indistinctness and confusion, from want 

of clear ideas of the mode in which these seemingly opposite 



THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. Gl 



Energy. Mildness and forbearance. 



qualities come together. The explanation is this. The 
question, which of these two classes of qualities he would ex- 
hibit, depended entirely upon the question, whether it was his 
own personal welfare or his Father's business, which was at 
stake. If it was the latter, he feared no danger, he shrunk 
from no opposition, and no obstacle or difficulty would turn 
him from his course. If it was the former, his own personal 
welfare, he was exactly the reverse, — mild, gentle, and yield- 
ing, to the last degree. There never was a mission or enter- 
prise of any kind conducted with a more bold, energetic, 
and fearless spirit, than the Savior's mission ; and on the 
other hand, there never was a case where personal sacrifices 
and injuries were borne with so much indifference and un- 
concern. Observe how he reproved the insincere and dis- 
honest pretenders to religion, which filled Judea in those 
days. He followed them into crowds, he met them face to 
face, and in the most direct and personal manner spread out 
their insincerity and hypocrisy before them. In the midst 
of Jerusalem, the very heart and center of their influence, he 
brought forward his accusations against them, with a power 
and severity which human eloquence has very seldom equaled^ 
This was in the cause of his Father. But when ends merely 
personal to himself were concerned, how changed. Peter's 
most unmanly and ungrateful denial was reproved by a look ! 
And Judas, coming at midnight with armed men, to seize 
him by the basest treachery, was called to a sense of his 
guilt by the mildest, the very gentlest reproof which lan- 
guage could frame. So when the profanation of his Father's 
temple was to be stopped, Jesus Christ could use a scourge, 
and effect a forcible ejectment with almost military authority ; 
and yet when, as was shown afterward in the judgment hall, 
there was nothing to excite him but his own personal in-- 
juries, he was meek and gentle as a lamb. He was equally 



62 THE CORNER-STONE. 

His story of the Samaritan. His rejection at Samaria. Plans. 

x ready to use the scourge, in the cause of God, and to submit 
to it in his own. 

And this principle is the key to his whole conduct. Many 
anecdotes might be given to illustrate it. One day, for ex- 
ample, when speaking in the midst of Priests and Levites, in 
he very seat of their power, he related to them the story of 
the good Samaritan. Nothing could be more keenly cutting 
or more bold than this. They hated the Samaritans, because 
they would not come to Jerusalem to worship, and they 
were proud of their own piety, because their worship was of- 
fered in the right 'place ! Jesus did not enter into any labored 
argument with them, to show that piety was a feeling of the 
heart, and not a business of geographical location ; he simply 
related the story — cutting as it did, exactly across their bit- 
terest prejudices, — they would not even have any dealings 
with the Samaritans ! 

Some time afterward, he came in contact with the same 
feeling, that is, the religious rivalry between the Jews and 
the Samaritans, again, though in a different way. He was 
traveling with his disciples, and on arriving at Samaria, 
they would not receive him because he was going to Jeru- 
salem, Here the prejudice between the rival sects only in- 
jured him, personally ; and he thought nothing about it. 
His disciples were angry, but he quieted them at once, and 
went on. Thus it always was with him. Yielding, submis- 
sive, and patient in regard to his own personal injuries and 
sufferings, but firm, inflexible, and courageous in the ex- 
treme, in resisting every injury to the cause committed to 
his care. 

There is something very bold and energetic in the meas- 
ures which he adopted in accomplishing his work. The 
great business which it was necessary for him to effect before 
his crucifixion, was, to publish effectually throughout Judea, 
his coming, and the principles of his gospel, — and to exhibit, 



THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 33 

Bold and systematic action. . His personal boldness. 

as publicly as possible, the miraculous evidences of his mis- 
sion. He accomplished these objects in the most effectual 
manner, in about three years. In fact, there perhaps never 
was a case in which so great a moral effect was produced in 
three years, on any so extensive a community, if we consider 
at all the disadvantages incident to the customs of those days. 
There was no press ; there were no modes of extensive writ- 
ten communication, no regularly organized channels of inter- 
course whatever, between the different portions of the com- 
munity. Jesus Christ acted under every disadvantage, and | 
he availed himself of no miraculous modes of disseminating 
his principles ; but yet, so skillfully did he plan, and with 
such promptness and energy did he execute, that in a very 
short period the work was done. 

What were these plans ? In the first place he went him- 
self, directly and boldly, into every center of influence and 
population that he could find, to proclaim his new princi- 
ples of religious truth and duty. When Jerusalem was 
crowded w r ith the multitudes which came together at the 
Passover, he was always there, in public and conspicuous 
places, exposing in the most explicit and direct manner, the 
sins of the times, and exhibiting the principles of true religion, 
with a distinctness, and vividness, and beauty, which have 
never been equalled. At other times, he was traveling from 
place to place, through fertile and populous provinces, visit- 
ing the larger villages and towns, and gathering great multi- 
tudes around him in the open country. And yet though he 
was, in his business, thus bold and enterprising, he was in feel- 
ing, as we shall see more distinctly in the sequel, of a quiet and 
retiring spirit. He always withdrew at once from the crowd 
when his work was done. He sought solitude, he shrunk 
from observation ; in fact almost the only enjoyment which 
he seemed really to love, was his lonely ramble at midnight,for 
rest and prayer. He spent whole nights thus, we are told. It 



64 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Night3 of prayer. 



Style of speaking. 




is not surprising, that 
after the heated crowds 
and exhausting lahors 
of the day, he should 
love to retire to silence 
and seclusion, to enjoy 
the cool and balmy air, 
the refreshing stillness, 
and all the beauties 
and glories of mid- 
night, among the soli- 
tudes of the Galilean 
hills — to find there 
happy communion with 
his Father, and to ga- 
solitude. ther fresh strength for 

the labors and trials 
that yet remained. 

Another thing which exhibits the boldness and enterprise, 
that characterized his plans for making an impression on the 
community, was the peculiarly new and original style of 
public speaking that he adopted. It was sententious, brief, 
antithetic. Every sentence was loaded with meaning, and 
was yet so concisely and energetically expressed, that the 
sentiment could neither be misunderstood nor forgotten. " If 
worldly pleasure allures you away from duty," a more timid 
and cautious speaker would have said, " you must relinquish 
it. Think how much more important your salvation is than 
any temporal gratification." " If your right hand offend 
you," says Christ, " cut it off. If your right eye offend 
you, pluck it out. It will be better for you to enter into 
life with one eye, than to be cast into hell-fire with two." 

The delivery of the sermon on the mount is, probably, the 
most striking example of moral courage which the world has 



THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. G5 

Sermon on the mount. . The assembly. 

ever seen. There are two circumstances, which render the 
occasion on which it was delivered, extraordinary. First, it 
was a very public occasion. A vast multitude from almost 
every part of the country were assembled. Judea, the 
southern province, and Galilee, the northern, were repre- 
sented ; so were the eastern and western shores of the river 
Jordan, and many distant cities and towns. From all this 
wide extent of country, a vast multitude, attracted by the 
fame of the Savior's miracles, had assembled to hear what 
this professed messenger from heaven had to say. Again, it 
was probably, though not certainly, a very early occasion. 
Perhaps the first on which the great principles of the gospel 
were to be announced to men. By this discourse, contain- 
ing, as it does, so plain and specific an exposition of the false 
notions of religion then prevailing, the Savior must have 
known that he was laying the foundation of that enmity to 
him which would end in V-s destruction. But he did not 
shrink from his duty, or conceal or cover over one single ob- 
noxious feature of the truth. He knew that the report of 
that meeting must be spread to every part of the country. 
As he looked around upon his auditory, he must have seen, 
here, one from a Galilean village, there, another from be- 
yond the Jordan, and again a third who would carry his re- 
port to distant Jerusalem ; and yet, though he was thus com- 
pletely exposed, instead of attempting to soften or conceal 
what might be expected to be displeasing to his auditors, he 
brought out all the distinctive features of prevailing error in 
the most open manner, and contrasted them with the pure 
principles of his spiritual religion, with a plainness and a 
point, which was exactly calculated to fix them in memory, 
and to circulate them most widely throughout the land. 

It was always so. The plainness, the point, the undaunted 
boldness, with which he exposed hypocrisy and sin, and the 
clear simplicity with which he held up to view the principles 



66 THE CORNER-STONE. 



His missionariea. Results. Key to his character. 

of real piety, have no parallel. And yet he knew perfectly 
well, that in direct consequence of these things, a dark storm 
was gathering", which must in the end burst in all its fury 
upon his unsheltered head. 

The enterprising and determined spirit, with which Christ 
entered into his work, was not satisfied with his own personal 
exertions. He formed the extraordinary plan of sending out 
simultaneously a number of his most cordial friends and fol- 
lowers, to assist in making the most extensive and powerful 
impression possible upon the community. At first he sent 
twelve, then seventy, who went everywhere, presenting to 
men the simple duties of repentance for the past, and of pure 
and holy living for the future. There could not have been 
measures more admirably adapted to accomplish the work 
which he had to do of promulgating everywhere throughout 
Judea the gospel which he came to announce to men. These 
measures succeeded. In two or three years the work was 
done. And every Christian, who has to work for his Master 
here, should learn a lesson from the enterprise, the system, 
and the energy, which Jesus Christ exhibited in doing 
his. 

This then is the key to the character of Jesus Christ in re- 
spect to spirit and decision. These qualities shine out in him 
with unequaled luster, whenever there was any duty to be 
done ; but the most mild and patient and humble submission 
take their place, when there is personal injury and suffering 
to be endured. In the streets of Jerusalem, and on any ques- 
tions which concerned the character of God, or the duty of 
man, we find him with all his faculties aroused, silencing 
every opponent by his unanswerable arguments, or by appeals 
of irresistible eloquence and power. But when these subjects 
fail, all the energy of attack or defense on his part gives way 
with them, and before his personal enemies, planning only 
personal injury to him, he stands silent, patient, and submis- 



THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 67 

Courage. The night in the garden. - Suffering. 

sive, leaving the whole torrent of injury to take its course, 
meeting it with no resistance and returning no reply. 

The history of the world can scarcely exhibit an act of 
higher, nobler courage, than our Savior performed, in coming 
down to meet Judas and the armed band, the night before 
he was crucified. Just imagine the scene. On the eastern 
side of Jerusalem, without the walls, there is a sudden de- 
scent to a stream, which flows through the valley. Across 
this stream, on the rising ground beyond, was a quiet and 
solitary place, where Jesus very often went for retirement 
and prayer. He understood very well his approaching tor- 
ture and crucifixion ; he had taken, the evening before, his 
last sad farewell of his disciples, and with the day of agony 
and death before him on the morrow, he could not sleep. It 
was a cold night, but a sheltered dwelling in the city was 
not the place for him. He asked his three dearest friends to 
go with him, that he might once more cross the valley, and 
for the last time take his midnight walk upon the Mount of 
Olives. Oppressed with anxiety and sorrow he fell down 
there alone before G-od and prayed that he might be spared 
what was to come. He had gone on firmly thus far, but 
now his heart almost failed him. Six long hours of inde- 
scribable agony seemed too much for the frail human powers 
which must necessarily bear the whole. He prayed God to 
spare him if it could be possible. 

But it could not. His strength failed under the exhaus- 
tion produced by his mental sufferings,, and by the more than 
death-like perspiration, which the night air, so cold at this 
season that even the hardy soldiers needed fire, could not 
chill. Mysterious help from heaven restored him a little, 
but though refreshed by heavenly sympathy, we must re- 
member that it was human powers alone that had this trial 
to bear. 

At last there is heard through the trees, at a distance 



68 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Lights and weapons and armed men. Real courage. 

down the valley, the sound of approaching voices. Lights 
are seen too ;— and now and then a glittering weapon. 
They are coming for him. Fly ! innocent sufferer, fly ! 
Turn to the dark solitudes behind you, and escape for your 
life ! — No. The*struggle is over. The Savior, collected and 
composed, rises and walks on to meet the very swords and 
spears sent out against him ! We must remember, that in 
this gloomy hour there was no one to encourage him, no one 
to defend him, or to share his fate. It was in the darkness 
and stillness of night, the very hour of fear and dread ; and 
the approach of those whose dim forms and suppressed voices 
arrested his attention, was the signal not of danger, but of 
death, — nor of death merely, but of protracted and unuttera- 
ble torture. Still he arose and went forth to meet them. 
" Whom seek ye?" said he, — "I am he." We have read 
this story so often, that it has lost its impression upon us ; 
but could we come to it afresh, and really appreciate the 
gloomy, dreadful circumstances of the scene, we should feel 
that the deserted Savior, in coming down under these cir- 
cumstances, to meet the torches and the weapons, which 
were to light and guard him back to such enemies and to 
such a death, exhibits the loftiest example of fortitude which 
the world has ever seen. There was less noise, less parade, 
less display than at Thermopylae or Trafalgar ; but for the 
real sublimity of courage, the spectacle of this solitary and 
defenseless sufferer, coming at midnight to meet the betrayer 
and his band, beams with a moral splendor which never 
shone on earth before, and will probably never shine again. 

We have thus far considered the great leading principles 
of our Savior's public conduct. As we have presented them 
they are three. 

1. Entire devotedness to his Father's work. 

2. Energy, system, and undaunted courage, in prosecut- 
ing it. 



THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 69 

Three great traits. Love of nature. - Kirke White. 

3. The mildest, most unresisting and forgiving spirit in 
regard to his own personal wrongs. 

We might close our view of his character with these lead- 
ing principles of it, but there are some other traits of a more 
private nature, which it is pleasant to notice. We shall 
mention them as they occur. 

1. Jesus Christ evidently observed and enjoyed nature. 
There are many allusions in his history to his solitary walks 
in the fields and on the mountains, and by the sea-side ; but 
the greatest evidence of his love for nature is to be seen in 
the manner in which he alludes to its beauties. A speaker's 
metaphors are drawn from the sources with which he is 
most familiar, or which interest him most ; so that we can 
judge very correctly what the habitual thoughts and feelings 
of a writer are, by observing what images arise to his mind, 
when he is interested in writing or conversation. We take 
down a volume of poetry, for an illustration of this remark, 
and open, almost at random, to the following lines by Henry 
Kirke White. 



" God keep thee, Traveler, on thy journey far ; 

The wind is bitter keen — the snow o'erlays 
The hidden pits and dangerous hollow ways, 
And darkness will involve thee. No kind star 
To-night will guide thee, Traveler, — and the war 

Of winds and elements on thy head will break, 

And in thy agonizing ear, the shriek 
Of spirits on their stormy car, 
"Will often ring appalling — I portend 

A dismal night, — and on my wakeful bed, 

Thoughts, Traveler, of thee, will fill my head, 
And him, who rides where winds and waves contend, 
And strives, rude cradled on the seas, to guide 
His lonely bark on the tempestuous tide." 



70 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



The Savior's metaphors. 



The lily. 




THE WINTER NIGHT. 



Now such a passage 
as this admits us very 
far into the author's 
habits of thought and 
feeling. No man could 
have written it unless 
he had often felt the 
sublimity of the mid- 
night storm, and sym- 
pathized strongly with 
the anxieties and dan- 
gers of the lonely trav- 
eler. He must have 
been himself a witness 
of such a scene, and 
experienced the emo- 
tions which it excites, 
or he could not have painted them so vividly. 

We learn in the same manner how distinct were the im- 
pressions of beauty or sublimity which the works of nature 
made upon the Savior by the manner in which he alluded 
to them. Take for instance, the case where he speaks of the 
decoration of the lilies. What a conception ! We are so 
familiar with it, that it loses its impression upon us, but if 
we could approach it anew we should be astonished at its 
boldness and beauty. He is endeavoring to persuade his 
disciples not to be anxious about their food or clothing, for 
if they will do God's will, he will take care of them. " Look 
at the lilies of the field," says he, " they toil not, neither do 
they spin, and yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all 
his glory, was not arrayed like one of these." A cold, heart- 
less man, without taste or sensibility, would not have con- 
ceived such a thought as that. He could not ; and we may 
be as sure that Jesus Christ had stopped to examine and 



THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 



Insensibility of men. The garden. - Its wonders. 

admire the grace and beauty of the lily, and the exquisitely 
penciled tints of its petal, as if we had actually seen him 
bending over it, or pointing it out to the attention of his 
disciples. 

The mass of mankind never notice the beauties and won- 
ders that are always around them. Among hundreds walk- 
ing in a garden, it is only a very few, who would perceive 
the objects of astonishment and delight which abound there. 
Here are several shrubs side by side. They grow from the 
same earth, are warmed by the same sun, and refreshed by 
the same showers ; and yet the very same juices coming up 
one stem, arrange themselves into a currant at the top, — 
coming up another they form themselves into a pear, and in 
the third case, into a rose. The real lover of nature pauses 
to reflect, as he sees these various fruits and flowers, how 
strange it is, that a mechanism so exquisite can be arranged 
in those stems, so as to bring such astonishing and such 
different results from one common storehouse of materials. 
The multitude do not think of it at all. They consider it as 
a matter of course, that figs should grow upon the fig-trees 
and grapes upon the vine, and that is all they think about.it. 

Here is a little seed too. It seems to the eye, lifeless and 
inorganic ; indistinguishable from a useless grain of sand. 
But what a complicated system is safely packed within its 
covering. Put it into the ground, and in a few months re- 
turn to the spot, and you find a little tree growing there, 
covered with leaves and flowers, and giving to many birds 
and insects a shelter and a home. 

Now Jesus Christ noticed these things. He perceived 
their beauty and enjoyed it. His heart was full of images 
which such observations must have furnished. He could not 
otherwise have so beautifully compared the progress of his 
kingdom to the growth of such a tree. He could not have 
related the parable of the sower, if he had not noticed with 



72 THE CORNER-STONE. 

The Savior's mode of addressing men. Moral sympathy. Reasoning, 

interest the minutest circumstances connected with the cul- 
ture of the ground. His beautiful allusions to the vine and 
to the fig-tree, the wheat and the tares, the birds of the air, 
and the flocks of the field, all prove the same thing. It is 
not merely that he spoke of those things, but that he alluded 
to them in a way so beautiful, and touching, and original, 
\ as to prove, that he had an observing eye and a warm heart 
\for the beauties and glories of creation. 

2. There is similar evidence that he noticed, with the 
same observing eye and intelligent interest, the principles 
and characteristics of human nature. Take for example, 
his story of the father's welcoming his returning prodigal, — 
the woman seeking the lost money, — the steward making 
friends with his master's debtors, and the pardoned sinner 
loving much because much had been forgiven. He observed 
every thing ; and his imagination was stored with an inex- 
haustible supply of images, drawn from every source ; and 
with these he illustrated and enforced his principles in a 
manner altogether unparalleled by any other writings, sacred 
or profane. 

3. In exerting an influence over man, he endeavored to 
aivaken the moral sympathies, rather than produce cold con- 
viction through the intellect. In regard to almost all impor- 
tant moral and religious truth, there is a witness within 

*— .every man's heart, and it was the aim of our Savior to 
awaken this witness and to encourage it to speak. Other 
men attempt to do every thing by reasoning, — cold, naked 

"^^Hfeasoning ; which, after all, it may be almost said, is the 
most absolutely inefficient means which can be applied, for 
the production of any moral effects upon men. 

Christ very seldom attempted to prove what he said. He 
expressed and illustrated truth, and then left it to work its 
nvn way. Sometimes he argued, but then it was almost 
always in self-defense. "When at liberty to choose his own 



THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 73 

He loved his friends. - He loved his mother. 

mode, as for example in the sermon on the mount, he said 
such things as commended themselves to every man's con- 
science, and their power consisted in the clearness and em- 
phasis with which he said them. If he reasoned at all, the 
distance was very short between his premises and his con- 
clusion, and his steps very simple and few. 

4. Jesus loved his friends. The duty of universal benevo- 
lence, which he so strongly enforced, he never meant should 
supersede the claims of private, personal friendship, or inter- 
fere with its enjoyments. He himself, while he was ready 
to die for thousands, preferred to take his walks, and share 
his griefs, with Peter, James, and John. There is nothing 
more touching, in regard to this subject, than the manner in 
which he made a private intimation at the last supper, to his 
dearest personal friend, of the fact that it was Judas who 
was to betray him. He understood and felt the happiness of 
communion and confidence between kindred spirits, and by 
his example has authorized us to link ourselves to one an- 
other by the ties of friendship and affection, as strongly as 
we please. Christianity, in expanding the affections of the 
individual till they reach every brother and sister on the 
globe, does not weaken or endanger a single private or do- 
mestic tie. While it draws the whole human family to- 
gether, it links, by a still closer union than before, the hus- 
band with the wife, and the parent with the child, — sister 
to sister, and friend to friend. 

o. The last thing that I have to say about the character 
of Jesus Christ is, lie loved Ms mother. Perhaps I have 
some young readers, who can remember that at some recent 
period, when they have been sick or suffering from any 
cause, they have, by their fretfulness or discontent, brought 
trouble and care to their parents, and have considered them- 
selves excused for it by the circumstances in which they 
have been placed. To them I have one thing to say. Your 

D 



74 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Proof. Filial affection. 

Savior was nailed to the cross. The whole weight of his 
body was suspended from his lacerated limbs, and here he 
had to hang hour after hour till life actually sunk under the 
power of suffering. But even here he did not forget his 
mother. He gave, in the most touching manner possible, his 
dearest friend a charge to be kind to her, to protect her, to 
take care of her as long as she should live. He did this, 
however, almost by a word, for under such circumstances it 
was torture to speak. He called the disciple to him, and 
pointing to Mary, he said, " Behold thy mother." That 
was all ;• but it was enough. The disciple took the bereaved 
mother, thus committed to his care, to his own home. Now 
let me say to each one of my readers, whether old or young, 
who has a mother still in life, as you shut this book at the 
close of this chapter, go and devise some act of kindness and 
affection for her, in imitation of the dying example which 
the Savior set us. Do something to cheer and comfort her ; 
even if it is no very substantial act of kindness, it will bring 
gladness to her heart, as a memorial of your remembrance 
and affection. Mary must have felt the proof of love which 
Jesus evinced for her upon the cross, most deeply. They 
told the Savior, long before, that his mother was to be en- 
vied. She must have endured a great deal of solicitude and 
a great deal of suffering, during her life ; but it must have 
gone far toward counterbalancing it all, to be remembered 
thus, under such circumstances, by such a son. 



HUMAN DUTY. 75 



A difference between the gospels and the epistles. 



CHAPTER III. 

HUMAN DUTY, OR THE SAVIOR* S MESSAGE TO MANKIND. 
u And they went out and preached that men should repent." 

It is a remarkable fact, and one which has often surprised 
careful readers of the Bible, that scarcely any thing is said 
by our Savior himself, in regard to his own sufferings, as the 
ground of human salvation, while the writings and addresses 
of the apostles are full of this theme. There is a most ex- 
traordinary contrast, in this respect, between the gospels and 
the epistles. In the former, Christ's sufferings and death 
are scarcely ever spoken of, in the latter, nothing is spoken 
of so much. This state of the case has, on the one hand, 
led many persons to underrate the influence and importance 
of our Savior's sufferings and death, and they defend their 
views by referring to the nature of our Savior's instructions. 
Others err on the other side, by taking the epistles as their 
only model, — not sufficiently considering the character of 
Christ's instructions. Others are embarrassed when they 
think on this subject ; they do not know how to reconcile 
the seeming inconsistency, though they endeavor to diminish 
it, as far as possible, by exaggerating and emphasizing the 
little which Jesus Christ did say, in regard to his sufferings 
and death. "We ought always to suspect ourselves when we 
are attempting to get out of Scriptural difficulties in this 
way ; — by loading passages of Scripture with more meaning 
than they will naturally bear ; a process very common among 



76 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Wrong way to read the Bible. Right way. The school-house. 

theological writers. The best way is to allow the Bible tc 
speak for itself. We must not attempt to improve it, but 
just let it tell its own story, in its own way. The man who, 
when he reads some of the strong, decided passages in the 
Epistles, ascribing all hope of human salvation to the atoning 
sacrifice of the Son of God, finds himself holding back from 
the writer's view, endeavoring to qualify the language or to 
explain it away, is not studying the Bible in the right spirit. 
On the other hand, lie who can not take the directions which 
Christ or John gave, for beginning a life of piety by simple 
repentance for the past, without adding something from his 
own theological stores, or forcing the language to express 
what never could have been understood by those who origin- 
ally heard it, — he can not be studying this book with the right 
spirit. We must take the Bible as it is ; and there certainly 
is a very striking and extraordinary difference, between the 
public instructions of our Savior himself, and those of his 
apostles, in respect to the prominence given to the efficacy of 
his sufferings in preparing the way for the salvation of men. 
Let us look into this. 

Whenever, under any government, a wrong is done, there 
is, as any one will see, a broad distinction to be observed be- 
tween the measures which the government must adopt, in 
order to render it safe to pardon the perpetrator of it, and the 
conditions with which the guilty individual is required to 
comply, in order to avail himself of the offer. To make this 
plain, even to my younger readers, I will describe a case. It 
illustrates the principle, I admit, on a very small scale. 

In a remote and newly-settled town in New England, on 
the shore of a beautiful pond, under a hill covered and sur- 
rounded with forests, was a small school-house, to which, 
duiing the leisure months of the winter, thirty or forty boys 
and girls gathered, day after day, from the small farm-houses, 
which were scattered over the valleys around. One evening 



HUMAN DUTY. 



A stormy night. Trouble. The lost cap. 

a sort of exhibition was held there. Before the time had 
arrived, there had been indications of an approaching snow- 
storm. These indications increased during the evening : and 
when, at the close of the evening, the assembly began to dis- 
perse, they found that the storm had fairly set in. 

The master was sitting at his desk, putting away his 
papers, and preparing to go home. The snow was beating 
against the windows, and the aspect of the cold and stormy 
weather without made many of the scholars reluctant to 
leave the warm and bright fire, which was still burning on 
the spacious hearth. For many of them sleighs were to be 
sent by their friends ; others, who were prepared themselves 
to go forth, were waiting for their companions to get ready ; 
and every minute or two the door would open and admit a 
boy shivering with cold, and white with snow. 

Presently the master heard some voices at the door, in 
which he could distinguish tones of complaint and suffering. 
Several of the boys seemed to be talking together, apparently 
about some act of injustice which had occurred, and after 
waiting a few minutes, the master sent for all the boys who 
were standing at the door, to come to him. 

Half a dozen boys immediately walked eagerly in, and 
behind them followed one, more reluctantly ; his head was 
bare, and he had evidently been in tears. As this company 
entered the room, the conversation among the other children 
was hushed, and all their preparations were suspended, and 
every face was turned with an expression of eager interest 
toward the master, as the group approached him. 

u T\'illiam," said the master to one of the foremost boys, 
" there seems to have been some trouble ; will you tell me 
what it is ? : ' 

"Yes, sir : Joe Symmes threw his cap/' — pointing to the 
sorrowful-looking boy in the rear, — " off upon the pond, and 
it has blown away and he can not find it. ; ' 



78 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Conversation. The teacher's perplexity. 

" Joseph," said the master, " is it so ?" 

Joseph acknowledged the fact. It appeared, on more 
careful inquiry, that there had been some angry collision 
between the boys, in which Joseph had been almost entirely 
to blame ; and it was a case of that kind of tyranny of the 
stronger, which is so common among school-boys. In the 
end, he had seized his schoolmate's cap, and thrown it off 
upon the icy surface of the pond, over which it had glided 
away with the driving wind and snow, and was soon lost 
from view. Joseph said he knew that it was wrong, and he 
was sorry. He said he ran after the cap as soon as it was 
gone, but he lost sight of it, and that now he did not know 
what he could do to get it again. 

The master told the boys that they might go to the fire, 
while he considered for a few minutes what he ought to do. 

When left alone, the teacher reflected that there were 
two separate subjects of consideration for him. First there 
w r as an individual who had been guilty of an act of injustice. 
Next there was a little community, who had been witnesses 
of that injustice, and were all in suspense, waiting to know 
what would follow. 

"I am unwilling to punish Joseph," thought he, "for he 
seems to be sorry for what he has done, and I think it highly 
probable that he will not repeat the wrong ; but if I allow 
such a case to pass with a mere reproof, I fear it will do in- 
jury to the school. The boys will have less abhorrence in 
future for acts of injustice and oppression by the stronger, 
than they have had. Just in proportion as they see sin, 
without seeing sad results coming from it to the sinner, they 
will lose their sensitiveness to its guilt. I must not allow 
this case to pass without something to make the right moral 
impression upon those who have witnessed it. I wish that I 
could do this without bringing suffering upon Joseph, but I 
do not see how I can." 



HUMAN DUTY. 79 



The plan formed. Penitence necessary before forgiveness. 

' ; All ! I see what I can do," thought he ; " I will take the 
suffering myself. Yes ; I will forgive Joseph at once, and 
then I will go out myself and find the cap, or help them 
find it, and when the scholars see, that the consequences of 
this offense comes upon my head, bringing me inconvenier.ee 
and even suffering, especially if they see me Lear it with 
a kind and forgiving spirit, perhaps it will do as much good 
as punishing Joseph would do. Yes ; I know that all my 
pupils, and Joseph among the rest, are strongly attached to 
me, and I am sure that when they see me going out into the 
cold storm, over the ice, and through the snow, to repair the 
injury which lie has done, it will make a strong impression. 
In fact it will, I am sure, touch them more effectually, and 
produce a much stronger dislike to such a spirit, than four 
times as much inconvenience and suffering inflicted as a 
punishment upon Joseph himself." 

It is evident now that such a plan would be safe and 
proper only on supposition that Joseph is really sorry for 
what he has done. The course proposed would be altogether 
inadmissible, if the offender, instead of being humble and 
penitent, should appear angry and stubborn. 

On the other hand, if the master's plan was a wise one, 
although real penitence on the part of Joseph would be 
absolutely necessary, nothing else w r ould be necessary. He 
need not know any thing about the plan on wHich the 
master relies, for producing the right moral impression on 
the little community. 

Now the whole object of this illustration, is to bring clearly 
forward the distinction, between what is necessary as a 
measure of government — in order to prepare the way to offer 
pardon, and what is necessary as an act of the criminal, in 
order to enable him to receive it. 

It is very evident, in this case, that these two things are 
entirely distinct and disconnected, and that it is not at all 



80 THE CORNER-STONE. 



A dialogue. Forgiveness of Joseph. 

necessary that Joseph should know the ground on which the 
teacher concluded it safe for him to be forgiven. The 
master's suffering the inconvenience and trouble is an 
essential thing to be done, in order to render it safe to 
forgive ; but it is not an essential thing to be knoivn, at the 
time forgiveness is declared. In fact, the most delicate and 
most successful mode of managing the affair, would be for 
the master to say nothing about the philosophy of his course 
of action, but simply to adopt his course, and leave it to pro- 
duce its own natural and proper effects. 

Accordingly the master, in this case, after a few minutes 
of reflection, called the boys to him again. 

" Joseph,' ' said he, " you have done wrong, in oppress- 
ing one younger and weaker than yourself, and I might 
justly punish you. I have concluded however to forgive 
you ; — that is if you are sorry for the wrong. Are you 
sorry?" 

" Yes, sir, I am," replied the boy distinctly. 

" Are you willing to make proper reparation, if I will tell 
you what to do ?" 

" Yes, sir." 

" James," continued the master, " are you willing that he 
should be forgiven ?" 

" Yes, sir, I am willing he should be forgiven ; but how 
shall I get my cap ?" 

" I will talk with you about that, presently. You see that 
is another part of the subject ; the question now is, what is 
to be done with Joseph ? He has done wrong, and might 
justly be punished, but he is sorry for it, and in this case, I 
conclude not to punish him." 

If the whole subject were to be left here, the reader will 
perceive how incomplete and unfinished the transaction 
would be considered, in respect to its effects on those who 
witnessed it. It would, if left here, bring down the standard 



HUMAN DUTY. 81 



The teacher's walk. Effect on the boys. His return. 

of justice and kindness among the boys. And if the pupils 
had been accustomed to an efficient government, they would 
be surprised at such a result. 

But still, though the teacher had something in reserve to 
prevent such an injury, it was not, as I have said before, at 
all necessary, nay, it was not expedient, that he should say 
any thing about it. thus far. Joseph's penitence was essen- 
tial to render his pardon proper. This it was indeed neces- 
sary for him to understand. The measure to be adopted 
was essential to render that pardon safe. This it was essen- 
tial for no one but the master to understand. It was neces- 
sary that the moral effect should be produced on all, but the 
measure which the master had in view for producing it, might 
safely remain unexplained, till the time came for putting it 
into execution. 

After all was thus settled with the boys, the master took 
down his cloak, and said that he would go out and see if he 
could find the cap. Joseph wished to go with him, but his 
teacher replied, that it would do no good for him to go out 
in the cold too ; — it might be necessary to go quite across the 
pond. He however asked Joseph to show him exactly where 
he had thrown the cap, and then, noticing the direction of 
the wind, the master walked on in pursuit. 

A cluster of boys stood at the door, and the girls crowded 
at the windows to see their teacher work his way over the 
slippery surface, stopping to examine every dark object, 
and exploring with, his feet every little drift of snow. They 
said nothing about the philosophy of the transaction : in fact, 
they did not understand it. The theory of moral government 
was a science unknown to them ; but every heart was warm 
with gratitude to their teacher, and alive to a vivid sense of 
the criminality of such conduct as had resulted thus. And 
when, after a time, they saw him returning with the cap in 
his hand, which he had found half buried in the snow, undei 



82 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Moral effect of Christ's sufferings. 




THE LOST CAP, 



a bank on the opposite shore, there was not one whose heart 
was not full of affection and gratitude toward the teacher 
and of displeasure at the sin. And the teacher himself, 
though he said not a word in explanation, felt that by that 
occurrence, a more effectual blow had been struck at every 
thing like unkindness and ill-will among his pupils, than 
would have been secured by any reproofs he could have admin- 
istered, or by any plan of punishment, however just and severe. 
Such a case is analogous, in many respects, to the meas- 
ures which God has adopted to make the forgiveness of hu- 
man guilt safe. It is only one point, however, of the analogy 
which I wish the reader to observe here, namely, that though 
the measure in question was a thing essential for the master 
to do, it was not essential for the criminal to understand, at 
the time he was forgiven. 



HUMAN DUTY. 53 



Essentials. The penitent child. 

So in regard to the moral effect of God's government, pro- 
duced by the sufferings of Jesus Christ, in preparing the way 
for the forgiveness of sin. The measure itself was necessary 
to render free forgiveness safe, but a clear understanding of 
its nature and of its moral effect, is not always necessary to 
enable the individual sinner to avail himself of it. 

In the early ages of the world, it was obscurely intimated 
to men, that, through some future descendant of Abraham, 
measures were to be adopted, which would open the way for 
the expiation of human guilt. What these measures were, 
few, if any, understood. Men were, in many cases, anxiously 
waiting for a development of them, but, in the mean time, it 
was universally understood, that if any man would forsake 
his sins and serve Jehovah, he would be forgiven. The sim- 
ple proclamation, " Repent and be forgiven," went every- 
where. The ground, on which such a proclamation could 
be safe and wise, it was for God alone to consider, and to 
reveal to men, just as soon, and just as extensively, as he 
might see fit. 

Let it be understood, that I am speaking of what is essen- 
tial, not what is desirable. The knowledge of our Savior's 
sufferings and death, and clear ideas of the grounds of them, 
have been in every age, the most powerful of all possible 
means of impressing the heart, and leading men to God. 
Still they are not the only means. Man could not have been 
forgiven if Christ did not die, but he may be forgiven, and 
yet not know that Christ died, till he actually meets him in 
heaven. 

The moment a little child, for instance, is capable of know- 
ing that it has a Maker, and of discerning between right and 
wrong, it is capable of loving God, and feeling penitence for 
sin ; and the mysterious influences of the Spirit may as 
easily awaken these feelings at this age, as at any other. It 
can be forgiven, however, only through the sufferings of its 



84 THE CORNER-STONE. 



The shipwrecked minister. The savages. 

Savior, and yet months must elapse, before it can know any 
thing about these sufferings ; and years, before it can look 
into the principles of government enough, to see why they 
were necessary, or to appreciate at all the moral impression 
which they produce. 

Suppose a Christian minister is thrown by shipwreck upon 
a savage island, and in a state of sickness and exhaustion so 
great, that he feels that I13 must sink in a few days to the 
grave. He knows nothing of the language of the islanders, 
but he soon succeeds, by careful attention, in obtaining 
phrases enough to preach the simple duty of repentance. 

" There is a God," he says to those around him in his dy- 
ing hour. " He will punish the wicked. Become good and 
you will please him." 

fcl Ah !" reply the savages, " we have all been wicked al- 
ready, — very wicked." 

" Think not about the past," he replies. " It will be for- 
given : — there is a way — I can not explain it. Leave your 
wickedness and do right, and God will save you." 

As he utters these words, his strength fails, and his au- 
dience can hear no more. But they have heard enough. I 
do not say enough to induce them to forsake their sins and 
return to God, but to show them how to do it. And if men, 
after hearing only such a sermon as that, were to continue 
their lives of wickedness, and die unchanged, it would still 
be true, that the opportunity of mercy had been fully before 
them. 

<l We did not know," they might say, when called to ac- 
count, " that a Savior had died for us, and consequently could 
not know how we could be forgiven." 

"You are without excuse," the judge might reply. "It 
was for you to abandon your sins ; — It was for me to consider 
how you could be forgiven." 

Now every savage that ever lived has had just such a ser- 



HUMAN DUTY. 85 



Conscience, the universal monitor. John the Baptist. Jonah. 

mon as this preached to him. Not by a Christian minister, 
indeed, wrecked on the reefs of his island, hut by a far more 
faithful and intelligible preacher than any such would be. 
Conscience, the universal ambassador from heaven, has been 
unceasingly faithful, in every age, and in every clime, preach- 
ing repentance, and op3ning the door of salvation to every 
human soul. That our fellow-men do almost invariably, 
if left to this warning voice alone, disregard it and persist in 
sin, is indeed true ; but at the day of judgment, it will ap- 
pear that, of all the countless millions of the human family, 
though but a very small portion ever heard of a Savior, there 
never was one, who might not have been saved through his 
death, if he had done what God, during all his life, was con- 
tinually calling him to do. 

Though this preaching, that is, the simple call to repent- 
ance, is generally powerless over unenlightened and pagan 
minds, it is not always so. In the Jewish nation, there were 
undoubtedly a great many penitent and pardoned men, though 
they knew little or nothing of their future Savior. John 
the Baptist undoubtedly made many true converts ; even 
Jonah's preaching was successful ; and a hundred and twenty, 
at least, were found to have received aright the instructions 
of our Savior, though even his apostles do not appear to have 
fully understood before his death, that he was to be crucified 
for them. It is so too in our times. True piety, unquestion- 
ably, often exists where there is a very imperfect understanding, 
or at least a very limited appreciation, of the nature of the great 
sacrifice for sin. This fact is very evident to all, though it 
often very much embarrass es those who do not properly dis- 
tinguish between what is necessary for man to do, in order 
to be saved, and what it is necessary for God to do, in order 
to render it safe to save him. On this latter point, the hu- 
man soul may be kept in the dark by a thousand circum- 
stances, for which it is not responsible : but in regard to the 



86 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Voice of conscience. Personal duty plain, though universally neglected. 

former, it can not be kept in ignorance, or led into mistake. 
Conscience may indeed be perverted ; but still it will some- 
times speak, — more or less distinctly it is true, — but it will 
speak : and not a liuman being can get through his time of 
trial here, without hearing its warning. God has given it 
a message to every one, which, if heeded, will secure sal- 
vation ; and that message it will, in every case, most assur- 
edly deliver. 

It seems, then, that Jesus Christ very clearly recognized 
the distinction between the provision which God must make, 
in order to open the way for human salvation, and the part 
which man must perform, to avail himself of it ; and it is 
the last, very evidently, which it is of direct and immediate 
importance to man to know. It was the last which he 
accordingly devoted his chief time and attention in urging 
on man, — namely, his own personal, immediate duty. They 
who heard him were indeed inexcusable before, but the 
clearness, the distinctness and the emphasis, with which he 
brought forward the claims of God over human hearts, ren- 
dered them more inexcusable still. 

And here I must remark, that this mode of attempting to 
turn men to God, met with only very partial success. Jesus 
Christ succeeded in persuading very few. It was not till 
afterward, when the love of Christ in dying for men was 
loudly and universally proclaimed, that hearts were touched 
and penitence awakened. But still this preaching of th-3 
sufferings of Christ afterward, was not throwing additional 
light upon duty, — it was only a new inducement to do it 
The great duty, repentance for sin, was the same afterward 
as before. The only difference was, that men were more 
easily led to repent after they had learned the greatness of 
the sacrifice by which alone penitence could be available. 
They ought, however, to have repented before ; if they had 



HUMAN DUTY. 87 



God's design in the creation. 



done so, God would have forgiven them, though they could 
not have understood how such forgiveness could safely he 
bestowed. And so it is now. By the sacrifice of the Son of 
God, the door of salvation ox repentance, is opened to 
every human being on the globe. * 

But to return. The great subject of Christ's instructions 
seems to have been simply, human duty. It was his object 
to explain, not the great arrangements and measures of God's 
government, but the duties which each individual sinner had 
personally to perform. 

In order to exhibit clearly the ground which our Savior 
occupied in his public ministrations, we must consider the 
plan which the Creator seems to have formed for the human 
race, when he determined to call them into being. His de- 
sign is represented to us to have been to form one great, 
united and happy family, over which he should himself reign 
as the beloved and acknowledged sovereign. All the re- 
sources of his wisdom and power were to be employed to 
promote the happiness of his creatures, and he designed they 
should themselves all co-operate with him in these aims, 
each being interested in the happiness of all the others, and 
joined together in him. Many a father aims at promoting 
such a feeling of mutual good-will among his children, and 
of dependence and attachment toward him as their head, 

* It has often been made a question among religious writers, wheth 
er, in point of fact, repentance and salvation ever come to the inhab- 
itants of those benighted countries, where the Savior has never been 
known. Into this question we do not now enter ; that is, it is not our 
design here to inquire whether they ever do repent and forsake their 
sins, but only to exhibit the sentiment held up by the apostle, in the first 
chapter to the Romans, that God has not left himself without witness 
to any son or daughter of Adam. It is certain that if they would listen 
to this voice, and repent of sin, they would be forgiven. "Whether they 
ever actually do this, or not, is a question which we consider more 
fully in the following chapter. 



88 THE CORNEE,-STONE. 



The ten commandments. 



. while he, nevertheless, steadily refuses to come under the 
same system in his relation to God, who is the great head 
of the family to which he himself belongs. The children 
of such a father, one would suppose, might often see the 
contrast between the filial and fraternal duty which he is 
billing to perform himself, and that which he expects of them. 
Taking this view of the design of God, in regard to the 
family of man, we shall be surprised to see how admirably 
adapted to secure it that code of laws is, which he originally 
gave to men. We have read the ten commandments so 
many times, nay, they have been so long, and so indelibly 
impressed on the memory, that it is difficult for us to ap- 
proach them in such a way, as to get a fresh and vivid 
conception of their character. To obviate, in some degree, 
this difficulty, I give the substance of them in other lan- 
guage, so that the reader may see more clearly, by looking 
at them, as it were, in a new light, with what admirable 
skill they are adapted to the object. The wisest assembly 
of statesmen or legislators which ever convened, if called 
together to form a code for all the world, — one to apply to 
every nation, and to operate through all time, could not have 
made a better selection of points to be brought forward, or 
arranged them with more scientific and logical precision, or 
expressed them in clearer terms. And yet the infidel affects 
to believe that they were the production of the half civilized 
leader of a wandering horde, — contrived just to assist their 
author in maintaining an influence over his semi-barbarous 
followers ! But let us look at this code. 

THE MORAL LAW. 

I. DUTY TO GOD. ' 

First 1. Your Maker must be the highest object 

Commandment. f y 0ur interest and affection. Allow nothing 



HUMAN DUTY. 89 



Analysis of the moral law. 



Second 



to take precedence of him ; but make it your 
first and great desire to please him and to obey 
his commands. 

2. You are never to speak of him lightly or 
with irreverence, and you are not to regard any 
visible object as the representative of him. and Third 
He is a spirit, invisible from his very nature, Commandments. 
and you must worship him in spirit and in 

truth. 

3. Consecrate one day in seven to the wor- 
ship of God, and to your own religious improve- Fourth 
ment. Entirely suspend, for this purpose, all Commandment 
worldly employments, and sacredly devote the 

day to God. 



n. DUTY TO PARENTS. 

You are placed in this world under the care 
of parents, whom God makes his vicegerents, 
to provide for your early wants, and to afford Fifth 

you protection. " Now you must obey and honor Commandment, 
them.. Do what they command you, comply 
with their wishes, and always treat them with 
respect and affection. 

IE. DUTY TO MANKIND. 

Keep constantly hi view, in all your inter- 
course with men, their welfare and happiness, 
as well as your own. Conscientiously respect 
the rights of others, in regard, 

1. To the security of life. Commandment, 

2. To the peace and happiness of the family, commandment. 

3. To property. ComSaMment. 

4. To reputation. Commandment. 



)0 THE CORNEE.-STONE. 

Its character. Effects of obedience to it. 

Ill keeping these commands, too, you must 
Tenth regulate your heart as well as your conduct. 

Commandment. q. q {[ forbids the unholy desire, as much as he 
does the unholy action. 

» 

Such is God's moral law. And we may triumphantly ask, 
where is the statesman or philosopher, who with all the light 
and the experience of modern times, can improve it. In 
giving it as above, I have made no change except to alter the 
language, so as to present it with freshness to the reader, — 
and to number its sections, so as to bring its admirable ar- 
rangement more distinctly to view. I have not omitted one 
of its provisions, or added one not originally there, nor altered 
the position of a single command. Even the logical precision 
of arrangement, which is exhibited above, is not the result 
of any artificial systematizing of mine. The form in which 
I have presented the code only brings to view the logical 
perfection which the code itself in its usual form presents, as 
is evident from the fact that I follow the precise order of the 
commands, without omitting or changing the position of one 
of them. 

Look, then, at this law again, and imagine it perfectly 
obeyed in this world. What a scene of peace and happiness 
it would insure. And yet this is the law which men will 
persist in refusing to obey, and the infraction of which con- 
stitutes the whole controversy pending between God and 
man. This law the human race will not conform to. They 
never have conformed to it, and they will not begin. And 
yet disregarded, violated, trampled upon as it has been by 
common consent, throughout the whole human family, no 
man has ever dared to lift up his voice against its justice. 
From the day when it was first thundered forth on Sinai, it 
has been loudly proclaiming its commands, conscience, in 
every bosom, re-echoing its voice ; and the boldest, the wild- 



HUMAN DUTY. 91 



Spiritual obedience to it. The Priest and the Levite. 

*st, the most daring opposer of God, never had a word to 
utter against the justice and rightfulness of its claims. 

Kow the great design of our Savior's instructions, was to 
induce men to abandon their sins, and begin at once to keep 
this law. He explained its spirituality, and brought out to 
view the two great principles on which all its commands 
were based ; supreme affection to God. and disinterested be- 
nevolence toward men. 

It is most interesting to observe, how directly and clearly 
Jesus Christ always insisted upon spiritual obedience to the 
law, — I mean by this, obedience of the heart ; — and how 
constantly he cut off, in the most decided manner, all those 
hollow acts of mere external conformity, which men were 
continually substituting in the place of this spiritual obedi- 
ence. And it is, if possible, still more interesting to observe, 
how liberal and expanded were his views in regard to the 
outward acts by which this heartfelt compliance might be 
indicated. On the one hand, no act whatever, and no course 
of life, however seemingly religious, would satisfy him, if 
there was evidence that the secret feelings of the heart were 
wrong. On the other hand, no action was too trivial to be a 
mark of piety, if it only proceeded from the right spirit. For 
example, here are a priest and a Levite, devoting their lives 
to their Maker's service. Xo one doubts their eminent holi- 
ness. How does the Savior judge ? Why, he leads them 
along a road which conducts to a spot where a man lies suf- 
fering. He watches to see what they will do. — They pass t 
by on the other side. Ah, that reveals the secret ! A man 
may devote his life to the external service of God. without 
really loving him at all ; but he can not really love him, and 
yet pass by and neglect a distressed and suffering brother. 
And so in a thousand other cases. The tests which he ap- 
plied to the religious professions of those days, and which are 
equally applicable to the bold, self-sufficient, hollow-hearted 



92 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Various ways of beginning to obey. 

zeal, which, sometimes displays itself in our times, are char- 
acterized by a beauty, a clearness, a delicacy, and at the 
same time by a searching and scrutinizing power, wholly 
» without a parallel. 

And while he could be deceived by no counterfeit, and 
would take no specious appearance on trust, but cut away, 
with a most unsparing hand, all false pretenses, and all mere 
external show, his liberality, in regard to modes by which 
real, genuine piety should exhibit itself, was unbounded. All 
that he desired was that the heart should be right. He 
cared not how its feelings were evinced. He found a man 
engaged in his ordinary business, and asked him to leave it 
and follow him ; another wished to know what he should do 
to inherit eternal life, and he directed him to employ all his 
property as a means of doing good ; in another case, he pro- 
nounced an individual forgiven, merely on account of per- 
sonal kindness shown to .himself ! Sometimes he called on 
men to repent ; sometimes to believe on him ; sometimes to 
obey his precepts. He was satisfied of Mary's piety, by the 
teachable, docile spirit which she manifested, in listening to 
his conversation in her house ; he pronounced many persons 
forgiven, on account of the feeling with which they came to 
be healed ; and even when the malefactor on the cross asked 
to be remembered by Jesus in paradise, the Savior considered 
those words alone, as the external indications of a renewed 
heart. 

It is very evident that he thought it of comparatively little 
consequence what men did first, in beginning to serve God. 
The great point was to induce them to serve him at all. 
We are very slow to follow his example in this respect. We 
are prone to insist upon some precise way in which all men 
shall repent and be saved. We arrange the steps, and must 
have them taken in their exact, prescribed order, and if these 
steps are not followed, we are suspicious and afraid, whatever 



HUMAN DUTY. 93 



The absent master. The disobedient boys. Expostulation. How to begin. 

may be the ultimate fruits. We consider the case anoma- 
lous, if we are compelled to admit it to be genuine. 

A master of a family, we will suppose, goes away from 
home, leaving his sons in charge of his affairs, and giving 
them employment, in which he urges them to be diligent 
and faithful until his return. After he leaves them, how- 
ever, they all neglect their duty, and live in idleness, or oc- 
cupy themselves solely with their amusements. A friend 
comes in, and remonstrates with them. He gives them a 
labored account of the radical defects in their hearts, the 
philosophical distinction between dutiful and undutiful sons, 
and the metaphysical steps of a change from one character 
to the other. His discourse is all perfectly true, and admira- 
bly philosophical, but it is sadly impotent, in regard to making 
any impression on human hearts. 

Another man comes to address them in a different mode. 
He calls upon them at once to return to their duty. 

" What shall we do first ?" ask the boys. 

"Do first ? do any thing first ; there is the garden to be 
weeded, and the library to be arranged, and your rooms to be 
put in order. No matter what you do first. Begin to obey 
your father ; that is the point." 

As he says this he goes around the premises, and, as he 
finds one after another, loitering in idleness or mischief, he 
calls upon them to return to duty. They are awakened ; 
they see, more distinctly than they had done, their negligence 
and guilt; and as they come successively, to know what 
they shall do, he points out to their attention various tasks, 
according to the age and situation of each. His object is not 
merely external, but sincere and heartfelt obedience, but he 
cares little by what particular act the new course of obedi- 
ence begins. 

It is just so with the preaching of Jesus Christ. He ex- 
plained the purity and beauty and perfection of God's holy 



94 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Giving cold water. Holiness is submission. 

law, and then called upon men everywhere to begin to live 
in conformity to it. In obeying this call it is no matter what 
men do first. No matter with what particular aspect the 
dawning light of Christianity first shines ; let it jenter where 
it will, it will rise and spread till it illuminates the whole. 
Nor can any external action, if it comes from the right spirit, 
be too unimportant to constitute the first step in a Christian 
course. Jesus Christ acted on this principle most fully. He 
even said that if a man would give a cup of cold ivater, to a 
disciple, in the name of Christ, that is, acting himself under 
the influence of Christian feeling, he should not lose his re- 
ward ! 

Nor is that remark a mere metaphor, striking and beauti- 
ful as it is. It is strictly true, that giving a cup of water to 
a follower of the Savior, may be the first act of a religious 
life. A man who has been neglecting or opposing religion 
all his days, may be asked by a Christian, some trifling favor 
like that, and the opportunity of promoting, even in so slight a 
degree, the cause which he had been opposing, might so bring 
to his view the happiness of co-operating with God, in con- 
trast to the misery and guilt of opposing him, that his heart 
might melt at once, and he might perform that little deed of 
kindness, in the exercise of his very first feeling of submission 
to his Maker. 

The course which our Savior pursued is the most per* 
fectly philosophical. Holiness is submission to God's law ; 
and though, in principle and spirit, it is always the same, it 
assumes in the heart many different forms ; or rather a holy 
heart, a heart willing to submit, will exist in many different 
states, according to the objects presented to it. Hold up the 
kindness and mercy of God to its view, and it feels grateful ; 
present its past sins, and it mourns : show God's goodness, 
and the leading principles of his government and character, 
and it rejoices. Thus holiness looking at sin, is penitence: 



HUMAN DUTY. 95 



Various forms of piety. The conversion of a little child. 

at God, is joy ; at duty, resolution; at self, humility; at 
human woes, compassion. In Abraham, it shone as obe- 
dience; in Job, as patience ; in John, as love. And yet in 
all it is one. If it exist in one form, it will exist in each 
of the others, when the circumstances call for them. Job 
would have been obedient if God had commanded him to 
leave his country, and Abraham would have been patient 
under suffering, like Job. We hear nothing of Joseph's 
penitence, nor of Samuel's faith in Christ, nor of Daniel's 
brotherly love. But it was the same spirit nevertheless, 
which reigned in all these hearts, appearing by different 
exhibitions, but in all its hundred forms remaining still the 
same. It was holiness, — attachment to the cause of God, — 
desire to keep his pure and perfect law. and submission to his 
will. This spirit shines in various hues, and with different 
degrees of luster, according to the varying circumstances and 
conditions of the hearts in which it burns. But it is the same 
spirit, whether it guides Abraham across the desert, or in- 
spires David's songs of praise ; whether it leads Peter to 
penitence, fills Stephen's heart with peace and joy, — or 
brings thousands in the streets of Jerusalem, to believe in 
the Savior and forsake their sins. It is not enough, to say 
that these various Christian graces are all of one family ; 
they are all in essence one and the same thing : so that if 
one comes, the others will inevitably, as circumstances call 
them, all follow in their train. 

This view of the subject is of immense practical impor- 
tance to all who are endeavoring, at the present day, to 
promote piety. It shows us how very various, and how 
entirely different, may be the first steps of /the return to God. 
You have under your care, for instance, a little child. He is 
too young to know much about religious truth ; — the nature 
of forgiveness, — the necessity of punishment, — the love of the 
Savior, — or a judgment to come. You can tell him of 



96 THE COKNER-STONE. 

Spiritual darkness. Way to remoye it. 

God, however ; his existence, his presence, his holy charac- 
ter ; and then you can just ask him, some morning, to do 
right that day for the sake of 'pleasing God. Perhaps he 
will not. He may try to do right, for the purpose of receiv- 
ing your praises or rewards, without feeling, however, any 
desire to please God. On the other hand, perhaps he will. 
If he does, it will indeed be through an influence exerted 
upon his tender affections, in answer to your prayers ; but he 
may be, and probably in many instances, children have been, 
under just such circumstances, turned to God, and led to be- 
gin a service which they are still continuing in heaven. Many 
children have thus been reconciled to God, when they were 
too young to know any thing about the source of spiritual life 
within them, or even the existence of that Savior, through 
whose death alone, they were finally declared justified and 
forgiven. 

There are many modes by which the human soul may be 
shut up in darkness, besides through the weakness and im- 
maturity of infantile powers. There are the inveterate pre- 
judices of an erroneous education, the influence of mistaken 
friends, the colored medium through which religious truth is 
seen, or distortions and interruptions of various kinds in the 
channels by which it is conveyed to them. If now, in any 
such case, means can be brought to bear upon the heart, so 
as by divine assistance to awaken any one Christian grace,— 
any single truly Christian feeling, — the danger is over. A 
stone is taken out of the firmly-compacted arch of impeni- 
tence and sin, and the whole structure must crumble down. 
Listening to arguments for the truth will often confirm men 
in error, but doing their duty will inevitably break the chain. 
"If any man will do his will," said Jesus, "he shall know 
of the doctrine ;" and it would be well if speculating, doubt- 
ing inquirers everywhere would leam from it, that practical 
obedience should come before speculations in theology — that 



HUMAN DUTY. 



97 



The various ways of turning to God. 



they had better begin to do God's will first, and discuss the 
principles of his government afterward. 

But we are wandering from our subject., which is the fact 
that Jesus Christ spent all his strength in inducing men to 
submit in heart to God, and to keep his holy law. and that 
if he found them in heart willing to do this, he was but little 
solicitous about the precise act by which the new life should 
begin. These acts were various then, and they arc various 
now. A young man, 
for example, having 
hesitated between the 
service of his Maker 
and the service of sin, 
walks out alone on a 
summer's evening up- 
on the sea-shore, and 
there, while meditating 
upon his character and 
condition, he resolves 
that he will hesitate 
no longer, but that he 
will return to his Ma- 
ker ; and he utters with 
honest sincerity, and THE ""alk. 

from his heart, the 

Lord's prayer, — language which he has often uttered, though 
without feeling, before. His first Christian exercise is prayer, 
Another, is overwhelmed with conviction of sin ; and suffers 
hour after hour, or day after day, under its oppressive load. 
At last his heart suddenly feels, and appreciates, and re- 
joices in, the goodness and holiness against which he has 
been contending ; he bursts forth in ascriptions of praise, and 
all nature seems to become suddenly resplendent with his 
Maker's glory. His first Christian feeling is joy Another's 

E 




98 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Forms and ceremonies. Do this. 

heart melts into godly and heartfelt sorrow for its sins ; the 
first renewed emotion in this case, is penitence. There is no 
end to the variety of forms which the movements of spiritual 
life assumes ; and Jesus Christ, while he most vigorously in 
sisted that there should be real, genuine, heartfelt obedience 
to The Law, attached no importance to the particular act 
by which it should first be rendered. 

There is one subject more, which must be considered here. 
I refer to the view which our Savior took of the forms and 
ceremonies of religion. His principle was this. He devoted 
all his strength to secure spiritual principles ; and in regard 
to all its ceremonial aspects, he left religion to accommodate 
itself to the varying tastes and habits of mankind, and to the 
changing customs and states of society, which the progress 
of time occasions. It is remarkable how little he specified 
in respect to modes and forms. He did not even arrange 
any form of church government for his own times, nor give 
any specific directions in regard to any christian ceremonies ; 

x ^n example unparalleled, we believe, among the founders 
of religions. There is something peculiarly striking in this 
point of view, in his manner of instituting the celebration 
of the supper. Instead of having a sort of code drawn up, 
specifying the various parts of the ceremony, the kind of 
elements to be used, the frequency of the performances, and 
the various attending circumstances, — he simply says, at the 
close of his last supper, as they were about to depart, — " Do 
this in remembrance of me." This. One word contains the 
whole description. He could not have left it more vaguely 
and indefinitely expressed ; and they who press the forms of 
Christianity, while they forget its spirit, can not be more 
pointedly reproved than by asking them to contrast the 
clearness, the point, the emphasis, the discriminating preci 
sion, with which Christ pressed spiritual duties upon men, 

\ with the unconcerned and almost careless air, with which 



HUMAN DUTY. 99 



Practice of tho apostles. Example of Christ. Changes necessary. 

he dismissed the whole subject of the most solemn ceremony 
which he established, with, " Do this, in remembrance of 
me." 

After our Savior's death, the apostles, animated by the 
same spirit, gradually established modes of church govern- 
ment for the exigencies of their own times. They modified « 
them as occasion required, and so careful were they to leave 
no record of a mode, which might subsequently be made a 
rule, that no ingenuity has been able to make out any 
one consistent system, from the various partial directions 
which they gave. And even could this be done, it would 
be no authority for us. I repeat it, — if a clear and consistent 
system of church government and of modes of worship 
could be deduced from the practice merely of the apostles, it 
would be no rule for us. We are bound to believe the asser- 
tions of inspired men, but not by any means to imitate their 
practice. Their practice was often wrong ; though this is 
not what we here refer to. It is because the circumstances 
in which they were placed, — the state of society and the con- 
dition of the world, — were peculiar, and from the very nature 
of the case, they must have been left to make arrangements 
adapted to their circumstances, but which would be inex- 
pedient in ours. Their practice, therefore, even where we 
admit that they were right, is of no binding obligation on us. 
So that, though we are required to believe what the apostles 
said, we are not required to do what they did, unless we are 
placed in the same circumstances with them. In fact, if we 
are to go back at all, for the authority of practice, on this 
subject, we ought to go back to the fountain-head, and imi- 
tate the Savior himself; that is, employ none hut itinerant j 
preachers, and send them out two and two ! The conclu- 
sion is irresistible. 

No. Nothing can be plainer, than that Jesus Christ meant 
to secure the spirit of Christianity, and to leave to each age 



100 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Changes necessary. Common error. One great denomination, 

and nation, the regulation of its forms. He adopted one 
mode, — the one suited to his purpose. His apostles imme- 
diately adopted another, which they changed as circumstances 
required ; and it has gone on changing ever since, and it will 
go on changing probably until the millennium, when modes and 
forms of worship will be as various and as unnumbered, as 
the domestic and social customs, of the human race, divided 
as it is, into a thousand nations and dwelling in every va- 
riety of region and clime. 

The narrow-minded view, which would have fixed in 
Judea, eighteen centuries ago, a system of organization to be 
adopted by all the races of men, and to continue unchanged 
for forty centuries, would have worked incalculable mischief. 
Emergencies continually occur, demanding new efforts, on 
new or modified plans. Sometimes great denominations 
arise thus, and accomplish what existing organizations could 
not have effected. At other times, gradual political changes 
so alter the genius, and character, and habits of a people, 
that the external form in which Christianity embodies itself 
must change too. It is the spirit alone that remains station- 
ary and common in all. . 

And yet nine tenths of nominal Christians, all over the 
world, are firmly believing and sincerely wishing, that their 
own denomination may extend and swallow up the rest, and 
become universal. But let us consider a moment, what 
would be the result, if such were the case. That one uni- 
versal denomination would soon have leaders. It might, or 
might not be so constituted, as to have them in name and 
office, but it certainly would have them in reality. Grant, 
if you please, that the first set of leaders are really humble, 
devoted, honest Christians ; what sort of men would be am- 
bitiously looking up to their posts, and beginning to struggle 
and crowd for the succession ? Why there can be no moral 
effect more certain, than that in such a case, four or five 



HUMAN DUTY. 101 



Disastrous results. . Spirit of Christianity. 

generations would place worldly, selfish, ambitious men at the 
head of the religious interests of the world ! We have had 
one terrible experiment of the effects of one great denomina- 
tion, to illustrate this reasoning. God grant that the dark 
day may never come again. 

It was thus the spirit of Christianity only that our Savior 
urged. He proclaimed forgiveness to all who would abandon 
their sins, and return to God, and obey the great moral law, 
which had been enacted for the general happiness. He pro- 
claimed the fact that forgiveness was sure, and thus opened 
the door of hope to every man ; but he did not say much 
about the dark path of sorrow and suffering, which he should 
himself have to tread, in order to open the way. It seems as 
if, with the delicacy which always characterizes ardent love, 
he would not inform men of the sufferings which he was 
about to bear for them. He assured them they might be for- 
given, but he never reminded them of their obligations to 
him for purchasing their pardon. Even his disciples, till they 
came to see him die, had no conception of his love. They 
learned it at last, however. They saw him suffer, and inspi- 
ration from above explained to them something about the 
influence of his death. They had enjoyed its benefits long be- 
fore, in peace with God, forgiveness of sin, and hope of heaven ; 
but now for the first time, they understood how those benefits 
were procured. It is hard to say which touches our grati- 
tude most sensibly ; the ardent love which led him to do 
what he did, or the delicacy with which he refrained from 
speaking of it, to those who were to reap its fruits. He did 
all that he could to save men, and in his interviews with 
them, spent his time in endeavoring to persuade them to coni 
sent to be saved. His sufferings he left to tell their own story 



102 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Human nature, 



The way to study it. 



The village. 



Morning. 



CHAPTER IV. 



HUMAN NATURE, OR THE SAVIOR S RECEPTION AMONG MANKIND. 



" We will not have this man to reign over us." 



In the last chapter we considered our Savior simply as a 
Teacher ; hereafter we shall have occasion to look at him 
more particularly as a sufferer. In the mean time, we must 
devote a few pages to consider the reception, which the 
principles of duty which he inculcated meet with among 
men. 

This brings us at once to the study of human nature ; — 
and the proper way to study human nature, is to look at it 
as it exhibits itself in the actual conduct of mankind. If we 
examine it thus, we shall find it presenting itself in a great 
many alluring aspects. Look, for instance, at any of those 
quiet villages which may be found by thousands in every 
Christian land. When day dawns, the gray light looks into 
the windows of a hundred dwellings, where honest industry 
has been enjoying repose. The population is grouped into 
families, according to the arrangement which God has made, 
and while the eastern sky reddens and glows by the reflec- 
tion of the approaching sun, there is, in every dwelling, a 
mother, actively engaged in providing for the morning wants 
of the household which God has committed to her care. 
There is a tie around her heart, binding her to her husband, 
her children, her home, and to all the domestic duties which 
devolve upon her. These duties she goes on to discharge, 



HUMAN NATURE. 103 



The wife and mother. - Industry. 

though they are ever renewed and ever the same. She does 
it day after day, — three hundred and sixty-five times this 
year, and as many more the next, and the next, perhaps for 
half a century. What patience ! What persevering indus- 
try ! and all, not for herself, but for others. 

At the proper time, all the families of the village assemble, 
each in its own quiet home, to receive their food. The 
breakfast hour for one, is the breakfast hour for all. Each 
conforms to the customs of the others, with as much regular- 
ity as if these customs were enforced by penal laws. Every 
one is at liberty, and yet, in all the important arrangements 
of life, they all agree. And how is this agreement produced ? 
By the regard which every one has for the opinions and feel- 
ings of the rest ; a feeling which we can not but look upon 
with pleasure ; and it reigns in all human communities, and 
has almost boundless power in regulating established cus- 
toms, and preserving the order of society. 

We next see our villagers going forth to their respective 
labors. You will observe them issuing from their various 
dwellings, and repairing to their work, with as much regu- 
larity as if on a preconcerted signal. The mechanics go to 
their shops, the tradesman to his store, and the farmers to 
their fields ; and though there may be here and there an ex- 
ception, they continue their toil as industriously as if their 
motions were watched, and all their actions controlled by 
masters, who had the right and the power to exact from them 
a stated daily task. And this course of daily active industry 
is persevered in through life, and all the means of comfort 
and enjoyment, which it procures, are frugally husbanded. 
Sickness, death, calamity, may produce an occasional inter- 
ruption, and even paralyze, for a time, all interest in worldly 
pursuits and duties ; but the elastic spirit rises again, when 
the severity of pressure is removed, and again finds occupa- 
tion and enjoyment in its daily routine. 



104 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Benevolence. Exceptions rare. Moral beauty. 

The moral beauty of it all consists in the fact, that each 
man labors thus industriously, day after day. and year after 
year, not mainly for himself, but for others. Each has, upon 
an average, four or five, who are dependents upon him, and 
it is for them mainly, and not for himself, that he confines 
himself so constantly to his daily toil. 

There may be exceptions. Here and there one is idle and 
dissolute, leaving the inmates of his wretched home to mourn 
Jthe guilt of the husband and father, and to feel its bitter con- 
sequences. But it is only here and there one ; and in almost 
every such case the ills which the sufferers would otherwise 
have to bear, are very much alleviated by the assistance of 
neighbors, who can not well enjoy their own comforts at 
their own homes, until they have relieved the pressure of 
f want that is so near them. The great majority however are 
faithful to their trust ; held to duty, not by compulsion, nor 
by fear of penalty, but by a tie which God has fastened 
round the heart, and whose control men love to obey. 

The reader may perhaps say that there is no virtue in all 
this seeming benevolence, because such is the nature of the 
tie, by which the father and the mother are bound to their 
household, that the faithful discharge of their own domestic 
duties is the way to secure the highest and purest happiness 
to themselves. It k so, undoubtedly ; and this is in fact the 
very moral beauty which we have been endeavoring to point 
out, that in a case of such universal application, the human 
heart is such, that it can find, and does find, its own purest 
and highest enjoyment in unceasing efforts to promote the 
enjoyment of others. 

TDhus the day passes on in our peaceful, quiet village ; the 
evening brings recreation of various kinds ; some indeed seek 
guilty pleasures, but far the greater number find happiness 
at home. Night brings universal repose, the members of 
each family sleeping quietly under their own roof, " with 



. 



HUMAN NAT UK E. 105 



Night. The sick child. The proposal. 

none to molest or make them afraid. 1 ' Or if there is a soli- 
tary one, who prowls about at midnight, to steal, or burn, or 
kill, he is but one among a thousand, — a rare and abhorred 
exception to the general rule. 

If among the families forming this peaceful community, 
there is one whose members, by unavoidable misfortune, or 
even by their own improvidence or neglect, have been re- 
duced to want, those around them will not allow them to 
suffer. Either by the spontaneous impulse of individual 
charity, or by a systematic arrangement in which all com- 
bine, ample provision is made for these wants. Food, cloth- 
ing, and shelter are provided for those who can not provide 
them for themselves, that there may be no exception to the 
general comfort and happiness. 

Perhaps, however, under one roof there is sickness. A 
pale and feeble child, who has been a source of unceasing 
anxiety and trouble to his parents from Bis very birth, lies in 
his little couch, restless and feverish, under an attack of some 
new disease. 

" Mother, your sleep has been disturbed long enough by 
its restlessness and its cries. Cany it away to some remote 
apartment, and leave it there, to moan alone under its suffer- 
ings, so that you may sleep, for once, undisturbed. If it 
should die before the morning, you will only be relieved of a 
continual and heavy burden." 

" Father, leave the little sufferer to its fate. You will 
then sleep quietly through the night, and the necessity for 
toil will be diminished on the morrow. Why should you 
take such pains, and bear such watching and such fatigue 
for this child ? Even if he lives, he will never repay you ; 
but as soon as he becomes a man, he will go out from your 
roof, away into the world, and you will see him no more. 
Abandon the little sufferer, therefore, now ;-— send him away 
to a distant room and leave him." 



106 



THE COltNEH-STONE 



lifulness. 



Moral beauty. 




THE MOTHER. 



The proposal makes 
father and mother cling 
still more closely to 
their suffering child, 
and when at midnight 
every house in the vil- 
lage seems desolate 
and still, you will see 
from the two windows 
of their chamber, the 
glow of lamp and fire 
within, contrasted with 
the cold white light, 
with which the moon 
silvers the windows of 
other dwellings. In 
that chamber the sleep- 
/less mother watches, with love which no sacrifices can ex- 
haust, and no protracted efforts tire. It expands to meet 
every emergency, and rises higher and higher, in exact pro- 
portion to the wants and sufferings of its feeble object. The 
light will continue at those windows, till the morning dawn 
extinguishes it ; and as long as the loved object needs this 
watchfulness and care, those windows will show the same 
signal of sickness and suffering, as regularly and as constantly 
as night returns. 

There is a great moral beauty in this, — and in all those 
principles of human nature, by which heart is bound to 
heart, and communities are linked together, in bonds of peace 
and harmony, and of mutual co-operation and good- will. 
Some persons may indeed say that there is nothing of a moral 
character in it. We will not contend for a word. There is 
beauty in it of some sort, it is certain ; for he who can look 
upon these, and similar aspects of human character, without 



HUMAN NATURE. .07 



Human virtue. Its two foundations. 

some gratification, is not human. It is beauty of some sort, 
and it is neither physical nor intellectual beauty ; if any man 
chooses to apply some other term than moral to characterize 
it, we will not contend. At any rate, it is human nature. 

But nearly all that there is which appears alluring in the 
above views, or any other views, which can be taken of hii- 
man nature, when left to itself, is to be resolved into two 
principles. And these principles are such that if virtue can 
be based upon them at all, it is certainly virtue of the lowest 
character. The principles are these. Natural Affection, and 
Policy ; the two foundations on which rest nine tenths of all 
which is called virtue in this world. There is, indeed, 
among men, a vast amount of industry and frugality ; of 
faithful domestic attachment, and persevering performance 
of the ordinary duties of life ; there is honesty, and conscien- 
tiousness, and a certain dislike of suffering, which leads to 
many efforts to remove or alleviate it. But after all, — for 
we must, to be honest, come to the unpleasant conclusion, — 
nearly the whole has its only basis in feelings of natural 
affection, or on views of enlightened policy. The results are 
beautiful ; they are essential to the well-being, and almost 
to the existence of society, but when we come honestly to 
analyze their causes, we shall see that instinctive affection 
and views of policy produce nearly the whole. G-od has 
taken care so to form the human heart, and so to constitute 
communities, that these influences of natural affection and 
these considerations of policy shall be enough, in ordinary in- 
stances, to protect the outward frame-work of society. This 
outward frame-work, therefore, is sustained very well. The 
rest, — all that is within, the region of the heart, the private 
feelings and private conduct between man and man, he has 
attempted to regulate by his law. And what is the conse- 
quence ? Why what he impels man to do, by fixed and 



108 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



The village examined. 



Real characters. 



certain constitutional tendencies, and what he makes it 
plainly his interest to do, that is done. But all the rest fails. 
His laws are broken, his authority contemned, and though 
the exterior fabric of society is protected, as we have seen, 
and presents so beautiful and imposing an aspect, the heart 
sickens as we look at what is within. 

Take our village for instance. If we look at its exterior 
arrangements, how fair it seems. But the reader would shut 
this book in displeasure at its harshness, if I were to describe, 
with any thing like fairness, the feelings and emotions which 
really reign in the hearts of its inhabitants. The children 
all know that God their Maker has said to them, " you shall 
not disobey your father and mother." They care no more 
for the injunction than for the idle wind. The mother who 
watches over her sick child, has perhaps a heart rising against 
God, repining and unsubmissive. It seems to be an honest 
village, for the inhabitants do not rob or murder each other 
in the night ; and yet there is not a man who will trust his 
neighbor to make a bargain without watching his own inter- 
ests in it with the utmost eagerness. They seem to be be- 
nevolent ; that is, they can not bear to witness any physical 
suffering, and they take measures to alleviate or remove it. 
The amount of real heartfelt benevolence among them is 
shown by this fact : that if any man comes forward with a 
plan for doing good, and asks the co-operation of his neigh- 
bors, nine out of ten of them will believe that the interest of 
the solicitor is in some way or other directly connected with the 
scheme, and in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, they will be 
right ! Such a view of human character, on paper, is ob- 
jected to, and opposed by many ; but still they know that 
it is in fact true. The very men who object to it act on 
the presumption of its truth, in all their dealings with others ; 
and their knowledge of mankind is abundantly sufficient to 
convince them, that if the hearts of the inhabitants of any 



HUMAN NATURE. 109 



The post-office. , Apparent virtue. 

village could be really unmasked, they would present such 
disclosures of envy, malice, strife, selfishness, ill-will, pride, 
and revenge, as would justify the strongest language which 
could possibly be used to describe them. 

It is astonishing what beautiful, what admirable results. 
may be secured in human society, by the operation of these 
natural impulses and views of policy, while each individual 
of the community may be the abandoned slave of sin. The 
following is a striking illustration of it. A man may drop a 
letter containing a hundred dollar bill, into any post-office in 
the country. He slips it through a little aperture, and does 
not know who is on the other side. The man who takes it 
up is a stranger. He passes it into the hands of another 
stranger ; and thus it goes from hand to hand, from driver 
to driver, and clerk to clerk, for a thousand miles, and at last 
his correspondent safely receives the monay from some one, 
he knows not whom. And what has been its protection ? A 
sheet of paper, fastened with a little colored paste ; or in its 
condition of greatest security, a leather bag, closed by a lock, 
which any stone by the side of the road would shatter to 
pieces. The treasure is thus carried over solitary roads, 
through forests, and among the mountains ; and is passed 
from one hand to another, in a state of what would seem to 
be most complete exposure. "What honest men these agents 
thus trusted, must be ! is the first reflection. Honest ! Why 
the writer of the letter would not really trust a tenth part of 
the sum to the honesty of a single one of them. They may 
be honest, or they may not, but the careless observer who 
should attribute the safe result to the honesty of the men, 
would be most grossly deceived. It is an adroit arrange- 
ment, — most admirably and skillfully planned by human 
wisdom, and acting by means of principles which God has 
implanted, — that secures the result. The merchant trusts 
the money to agents whom he does not know, not because he 



110 THE CORNER-STONE. 



No real difference of opinion about human character. 



thinks they are honest, but because he knows they are wise ; 
he relies on human nature, but it is the shrewd policy of hu- 
man nature, — not its sense of justice. 

Forgetting this distinction has been the means of a great 
proportion of the disputes which have raged in the world 
bout human character. In philosophizing upon the subject, 
a writer of a poetic turn is deluded by the beauty, the moral 
beauty, we may perhaps safely say, of results, which really 
depend on very different principles in human hearts, from 
what they seem to indicate. They who have the most ro- 
mantic ideas of human nature in theory, do not fail of being 
sufficiently guarded and suspicious in their dealings with 
mankind ; or if they do, they soon inevitably become soured 
by disappointed hopes, and while they panegyrize the race in 
the mass, they bitterly accuse and reproach it in detail. Be- 
sides, there is one proof, and that on a most extensive scale, 
of the real nature of worldly virtue ; it is this, — a fact 
which no man competent to judge will deny, — that all the 
arrangements of business in every community, and in every 
scheme of government which was ever formed by human 
skill, go on the plan of making it for the interest of men to 
do right, and not on the plan of confidence in the integrity 
and moral principle of their hearts. A government and a 
system of institutions based on the idea that men were, in a 
majority of cases, disposed to do their duty of their own ac- 
cord, could not stand a day. 

But all this is not the worst. It is not the falseness and 
hollowness of worldly virtues, nor the vices of heart and life 
which prevail everywhere among men, w r hich are the great 
subjects of the charge which God makes against us. It is 
another thing altogether, — viz., that men will not submit 
to the reign of God over them. This is their settled, 
determined, universal decision. It is called in the Bible by 
various names — such as ungodliness, rebellion, unbelief, en- 



HUMAN NATURE. Ill 



Alienation from God: settled and uniyersal. 



mity against God, and many others. Jehovah has proclaimed 
a law; men disobey it altogether. They do, indeed, some 
things which are commanded in that law, but then it is only 
because to do those things happens to suit their convenience. 
He says to us that we are not our own but his ; — we pay no 
regard to it, but go on serving ourselves. He says to us that 
all will soon be over with us in this world, and that in a 
very short time we must stand in judgment before him. 
Who believes it ? He charges the man of wealth to act as 
his Maker's steward in managing his property, and sacredly 
to appropriate it to his cause ; the wealthy man regards it 
just as much as he would a similar claim from the beggar 
in the street. He calls upon men of rank and influence to 
glorify him by exhibiting pure and holy lives in the conspic- 
uous stations in which he has placed them ; look at the 
princes and nobles, the legislators and statesmen of this 
world, and see how they obey. By his word and by his 
spirit he tells us of our undying souls, of the value of holi- 
ness and spiritual peace, and of the deep guilt of sin, of 
mercy through a Savior, and of eternal life with him in 
heaven ; men turn away from such subjects in utter con- 
tempt. These topics, whenever introduced among the vulgar 
classes of society, will ordinarily be received with open de- 
rision and scorn ; and the refined circles of society, with as 
decided, though with a little more polite hostility, will not 
allow their introduction. There seems to be as real and 
certain, and determined a combination among men, to ex- 
clude God and his law, from any actual control over human 
hearts, as if the standard of open rebellion was raised, and 
there were gathering around it all the demonstrations of 
physical resistance. 

It is sometimes said that the reason why subjects connect- 
ed with God and religion are so excluded from conversation 
in polite circles of society, is the fact, that when such sub 



112 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Evidences. Use of God's name. False religions, 

jects are introduced, they are so often the cloak of hypocrisy 
and deceit. I know it is so, and this fact constitutes the 
most complete and overwhelming evidence of the extent to 
which this world is alienated from God. Even what little 
professed regard there is for him here, is, two thirds of it, 
hypocrisy ! This is, in fact, what the objection implies ; and 
what a story does it tell, in regard to the place which God 
holds in human hearts. 'No. As men have generally made 
up their minds to have nothing to do with God, they are 
determined to hear nothing about him, unless it be in such 
general terms, and in such formal ways, as shall not be in 
danger of making an impression. We may almost wonder 
how eternal justice can spare this earth from day to day, 
when we reflect upon what is unquestionably the awful fact, 
that throughout all those countries where the true God is 
known, in four cases out of five in which his name is men- 
tioned at all, it is used in oaths and blasphemies. 

The world has been full of religions, it is true : but they 
have been the schemes of designing men, to gain an ascend- 
ency over the ignorant, by deceiving and bribing that con- 
science which God has placed in every heart to testify for 
him. It has been the studied aim of these religions to evade 
the obligation of moral law, and the authority of a pure and 
holy, and spiritual Deity. They substitute for these a sys- 
tem of empty rites and ceremonies, in order to divert the 
attention of the sentry which God has stationed in the soul, 
while all the unholy lusts and passions are left unrestrained. 
The case of the Pharisees presents a specimen which will 
answer for all. Unjust and cruel toward men, unfaithful 
and unbelieving toward God, and habitually violating and 
trampling under foot the whole spirit of his law, they would 
go out into their gardens, and carefully take one tenth of 
every little herb which grew there ; and this they would 
carry with ridiculous solemnity, to the temple of God, to 






HUMAN NATURE. 113 



The door of salvation open. - Men will not enter. 

show their exact observance of his commands ! This is an 
admirable example of the spirit and nature of all false reli- 
gions. Men will do any thing else but really give them- 
selves up to God. They will go barefooted to Jerusalem, for 
the sake of being sainted on their return ; they will fight 
under the crescent, for plunder or for military renown ; they 
will build churches and contribute money to public charities, 
from a hundred different motives ; but as to coming and 
really believing all that God has said, and giving up the 
whole soul to him, entering his service, and looking forward 
habitually to heaven as their home, they tcill not do it. It 
has been proposed to them again and again, in every variety 
of mode, and they will not do it. The prophets proposed 
it. Men stoned them. Jesus Christ proposed it. They 
crucified him. The apostles and their immediate successors 
proposed it. In the course of a very few generations they 
succeeded in bribing them, by means of worldly rewards and 
honors, to pervert their message, and leave the world undis- 
turbed in its sins. 

The preceding chapter of this work opened, perhaps the 
reader thought, a very broad door of salvation, and would 
lead one to ask, who can help being saved. It was indeed 
a wide door ; one which all might enter ; the condition sim- 
ple, and universally proclaimed. " Let the wicked forsake 
his way ancj. the unrighteous man his thoughts : and let him 
return unto the Lord and he will have mercy upon him ; 
and to our God for he will abundantly pardon." " In every 
nation he that feareth God and worketh righteousness, is 
accepted of him." But the difficulty is, that, widely ex- 
tended as the gates of salvation are, and simple as is the 
entrance, men will not come in. They do not wish to be 
saved, and they will not seek salvation. They do not love 
holiness ; they do not like the idea of serving God : peni- 
tence, humility, broken-hearted submission to God's will, and 



114 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Insincerity among Christians. Open vice and crime, 

spiritual peace and happiness, they do not like. They wife}, 
to be making money, or gaining admiration, or enjoying 
sensual pleasure ; and persuasion is not merely insufficient 
to change them, — it does not even tend to change them. 
You can not change the desires, and affections of the heart 
by persuasion. No ; plain, and simple, and open to every 
man, as is the way of life, men choose another way, and if 
the few imperfect exceptions which exist, were not accounted 
for in the Bible, we should be utterly unable to account for 
them at all ; so fixed, and settled, and universal a character- 
istic it is of human nature, to wish to have, in this life, as 
^ little as possible to do with God and eternity. Even the 
little love to God and submission to him which exists, is so 
adulterated that it scarce deserves the name. The enemies 
of religion know this very well. They charge us with sel- 
fishness and ambition and party spirit, as the real springs of 
a large portion of our pretended efforts in behalf of religion. 
And they are right. We deny it in our eager controversies 
with our foes, but every true Christian acknowledges and 
bewails it in his closet before God. 

We see thus that the great, the destroying guilt of human 
souls, is not open vice and crime, but determined and perse- 
vering alienation from God. The question whether a person 
becomes vicious and criminal depends almost entirely upon 
circumstances. A child brought up in the cabin of a smug- 
gler, or on board a piratical ship, will almost inevitably be- 
come a robber or murderer ; while on the other hand, the 
son of Christian parents, who is trained up properly in a 
Christian land, will almost as inevitably learn to respect and 
obey the laws. But though they may thus widely differ in 
external conduct, they may both reject, with equal determi- 
nation, all the authority of God over them. Both are equal- 






HUMAN NATURE. 115 



Salvation offered to children. Its reception.. The little child. 

ly under the control of a worldly spirit, though they gratify 
this spirit in different ways. 

Whenever we present the law of God to the human soul, 
and bring home to the conscience and the heaj'*,, the sum- 
mons to surrender to its authority, we meet from all the 
varieties of human character, with substantially the same 
reception. Take it to savages on their remote island. Ex- 
plain the law to them, show its moral perfection ; offer them 
forgiveness for the past if they will now subdue their pas- 
sions, and cease their murderous quarrels, and give them- 
selves up to the service of the pure and holy Spirit, and be- 
come like him pure, and holy, and merciful, and kind. Will 
they obey ? 

Come then to a Christian land, and collect an assem 
bly of children. Describe to them the cold, cheerless misery 
of sin ; call their attention to the secret corrodings of remorse, 
which they all suffer every day. Remind them of their in- 
gratitude and disobedience to their parents, and their neglect 
of God ; tell them how rapidly time is flying, and how soon 
they must appear before their Maker. Describe the moral 
beauty of a holy character, — pure, docile, faithful, grateful to 
father and mother, and filled with affection for God, — the 
soul resigned and submissive to his will and happy in a sense 
of his forgiveness and protection. Then ask them to come 
and give themselves to their Savior, and to begin lives of 
purity and duty and holiness. What will they do ? They 
will sit still while you speak, if they have been trained to sit 
still on such occasions, and perhaps a few may listen with 
real attention ; but after you have finished all that you have 
to say, they will go away with hearts as cold toward God as 
if they had been indurating under the influence of sin for a 
hundred years. 

Take younger children then. Here is a little one, just able 
to run about the floor and talk, and it yet knows little or 



116 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



The wealthy merchant. 



The message to him. 



nothing about God. It obeys its mother's express commands, 
because it finds from experience that some unpleasant conse- 
quences will ensue if it does not obey, and its obedience is just 
in proportion to the certainty of these consequences. Call this 
child to you now, and explain to it its duties and obligations 
to God. Attempt to awaken gratitude, filial love, and 
willingness to obey him. Try, in a word, to establish an 
acquaintance and communion of feeling between its heart, 
and the unseen, eternal spirit around it, and to awaken 
gratitude for his favors, and a desire to please him and to do 
his will. And what will be your success ? Why you may 
excite surprise ; you may arrest a momentary attention, you 
may awaken awe and even terror, by bringing death and a 
coming judgment to view. But to link that heart by any 
substantial tie to its maker and benefactor, and kindest and 
dearest friend, will baffle all your powers. 

Make the experiment then upon a maturer mind. Here 
is a wealthy merchant, engaged in business, which abundant 
prosperity from God has brought before him. In order that 
there may be nothing exceptionable in the form and manner 
in which his duty as a child of God is brought before him, 
we will suppose that he is sick, and has sent for his pastor 
to come and visit him. Let this pastor explain what is 
meant by the requisition of the Bible, that a man of wealth 
should feel that his wealth is not his own, but that he holds 
it as steward. — agent ; — and that he is bound to be faith- 
ful to the trust committed to him. He knows very well 
what are the duties of trustee. He understands the distinc- 
tion between agent and principal ; so that no long explana- 
tion is necessary. Let the pastor simply call his attention 
to the point, and bring home to his mind the nearness of 
eternity, the inconceivable importance of the salvation of his 
soul, and of the souls of his workmen, his clerks, his sales- 
men, his navigators ; and plead with him to come out 



HUMAN NATURE. 117 



Enmity against God. - The amiable girl. 

honestly and openly and with all his heart, on the side of 
God and holiness ; — to let his light shine ; — and to devote 
every thing that he has to the work of helping forward 
God's cause in the world. Suppose this experiment were to 
be tried, who that knows mankind would doubt about the 
result. One half the Christian pastors in the world would be 
so convinced of its hopelessness, that they would not make -the 
attempt. They would not ask, plainly and directly, a worldly 
man, under such circumstances, to give himself up to God. 
And if they should bring the question forward, plainly and 
faithfully, and in all its honest truth, instead of winning new 
converts to God, they would, in nine cases out of ten, in any 
commercial city in Christendom, excite high displeasure, and 
very likely never be able to gain admission to that bedside 
again. Worldly men are very willing to sustain the exter- 
nal institutions of religion, and to assemble on the Sabbath 
from time to time to hear praises of the moral virtues, or 
discussions of the abstract excellences of religion. But you 
can not take such a text as this, "Ye ae,e not your, own, 

YE ARE BOUGHT WITH THE PRICE, THEREFORE GLORIFY GoD 
IN YOUR, BODIES AND IN YOUR SPIRITS WHICH ARE God's :" and 

fairly bring it before men's consciences and hearts, so that 
they may really understand its meaning, without awakening 
strong opposition or dislike. It is opposition and dislike to 
something. They say it is not enmity against God. But 
that certainly looks very much like enmity against God and 
his government, which is excited by the presentation of the 
very fundamental principle of all his laws. 

But do not let us despair. There may be some one yet, 
who will admit God, though all these have rejected him 
Here is an amiable and gentle girl ; obedient to her parents, 
faithful in many of her duties, affectionate, kind. Let us 
bring to her the invitation to come into the kingdom of 
heaven. Exemplary as she is in external conduct, she 



118 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Apparent attention. Real indifference. Almost a Christian. 

knows very well that her heart would not bear exposure. 
Envy, self-will, jealousy, pride, often reign there. She knows 
it ; she feels it ; and her conscience being still tender, these 
sins often destroy her peace. Tell her that divine grace will 
help her to subdue these, her enemies. She sometimes looks 
forward to future life, and sighs to think how soon it will 
pass away. Tell her that piety will dispel the darkness that 
hangs over the grave, and open immortality to her view. 
She thinks of future trials and difficulties and dangers with 
dread. Tell her that the Savior is ready to guide her and 
be her friend ; to protect and bless her at all times, to give 
her employment, and to be her reward. Spread the whole 
subject out before her, and urge her to come and give her- 
self up to God and save her soul. She listens to you with 
respectful, and perhaps even with pleased attention. Do not be 
deceived by it. She is, at heart, utterly weary of the gloomy 
subject. She might like perhaps protection and happiness, 
but her heart revolts against God and holiness, and you might 
as well talk to the deaf adder as talk to her. 

Or if her heart is not entirely braced up and hardened in 
its determination to have nothing to do with God and religion, 
— if she is really willing to listen and to read, — she is still 
just as obstinately determined not to obey. She is called 
perhaps a religious inquirer. She reads the Bible, and offers 
a daily prayer, and takes an interest in religious instruction ; 
but her secret motive is to keep religion tvithi?i her reach, 
because she dares not let it go altogether. She is still deter- 
mined not to give herself up to her duty. She can love her 
parents, her brothers and sisters, but her heart is cold and 
hard against God ; and do all you can to persuade her to 
nome out openly and honestly and cordially on his side, she 
is fixed, immovably fixed, in refusing to do it. Her religious 
friends think that she is very near to the kingdom of heaven. 
&nd in one sense, she is near. She stands at the very gate 



HUMAN NATURE. 119 



Universal alienation from God. Dead in trespasses and sins. 

of the celestial city. All obstacles are removed ; she can 
look in and see the happy mansions and the golden streets. 
The simple difficulty is, that she ivill not enter. If you urge 
her, she attempts to perplex you with metaphysical specula- 
tions, or listens in respectful silence, and goes away and con- 
tinues in sin exactly as before. 

And thus it is all over the world. There are many beau- 
tiful moral exhibitions to be seen here ; many admirable 
results ; many alluring aspects of human nature. But after 
all, any honest observer must see, that between mankind and 
God their Maker, there is a deep and settled and universal 
disagreement. They would be willing that God should rule 
over them, if he would leave them pretty much to them- 
selves. But this he will not do. His very first and most 
emphatic command is, " Thou shalt love the Lord thy 
God with all thy heart, and thy neighbor as thyself;" 
and this they will not do. It is their fixed, their settled, 
their unchanging determination that they will not do it. 

Perhaps I ought not to call it a determination ; for it is 
rather a feeling than a determination, — a disrelish for holi- 
ness and the spiritual enjoyment of loving and serving God. 
The heart, sensitive as it is in regard to its own rights and 
interests, is cold and torpid in regard to its Maker's claims. 
Motive will not act upon it. Persuasion has no effect, for 
there is no feeling for persuasion to take hold of. Argument 
does no good, for though you may convince the understand- 
ing without much difficulty, the heart remains insensible and 
cold ; — dead, as the Bible terribly expresses it, — dead in 
trespasses and sins. This coldness and insensibility of the 
heart, toward God leads to all sorts of sinfulness in conduct. 
It takes off restraint, gives up the soul to unholy feelings, 
increases the power of temptation, and thus leaves the soul 
the habitual slave of sin. These overt acts are the effects, 
not the cause, and he who hopes to be morally renewed 



120 THE CORNER-STONE. 

The real difficulty. Spiritual blindness. The ungrateful child. 

must not look directly and mainly to his moral conduct, and 
endeavor to rectify that ; but he must look deeper ; he must 
examine his heart, and expect no real success which does 
not proceed from the warmth of spiritual life springing up there. 

I presume that a large portion of the readers of this chap- 
ter, will be persons who feel, in some degree, the value and 
the necessity of piety, and they are, perhaps, actually reading 
this book with a vague sort of wish to meet with something 
in it which can help them to find salvation. The book can 
do this only by showing you the real difficulty ; — which is, 
that you do not sincerely wish for salvation. "£!ear<e to do 
evil, ask forgiveness in the name of Christ for the evil that 
you have done, and henceforth openly serve God." These 
are certainly directions which it is easy for you to under- 
stand, and easy to practice. The difficulty is, a heart which 
will not comply. There is a moral obligation to comply, which 
the understanding admits, but which the heait does not feel ; 
and a moral beauty in complying which it does not perceive. 

This is spiritual blindness. And yet, simple as it seems, 
a large portion, even of those who call themselves religious 
inquirers, have very little conception of what spiritual blind- 
ness is. It is insensibility to spiritual things, a dullness of 
moral perception, such that sin, though it is intellectually 
perceived, makes no impression, and holiness, though the 
word is understood, awakens no feeling of its excellence and 
beauty in the heart. I can best illustrate it by a simple 
case, such as parents often have occasion to observe. 

A noisy boy, three or four years old, was once running 
about the house, disturbing very much, by his rattling play- 
things and his loud outcries, a sick mother, in a chamber 
above stairs. I called him to me, and something like the 
following dialogue ensued.^ 

* As the reader proceeds through the dialogue, we wish he would 
recollect that the case is not brought forward to illustrate the general 



HUMAN NATURE. 121 



The dialogue. - Ingratitude. 



" Where is your mother ?" 

" She is sick up stairs." 

11 Is she ? I am sorry that she is sick." 

A pause. 

" Were you ever sick ?" 

" Yes. I was sick once," said he, and he began to rattle 
his little feet upon the chair, and to move about in a restless 
manner, as if he wished to get down. 

" Oh, you must sit still a moment," said I, " I want to talk 
with you a little more. When were you sick ?" 

"Oh, I don't know." 

" What did your mother do for you, when you were sick ?" 

" Oh, she rocked me in the cradle." 

" Did she ? — did she rock you ? I am glad she was so 
kind. I suppose you liked to be rocked. Did she give you 
any thing to drink ?" 

"Yes, sir." 

" Did she make any noise to trouble you ?" 

"No, sir, she did not make any noise." 

" Well, she was very kind to you. I think you ought to 
be kind to her, now that she is sick. You can not rock her 
in the cradle, because she is too old to be rocked, but you can 
be gentle and still, and that she will like very much." 

" Oh but," said the boy in a tone of confidence, as if what 
he was saying was perfectly conclusive and satisfactory, " I 
want to ride my horse a little more." 

So saying, he struggled to get free, that he might resume 
his noisy sport. Probably nearly all the parents who read 
this dialogue, will remember, as they read it, many similar 

character of children. That is not our present subject. The story is 
told merely to illustrate the nature of blindness to spiritual things ; and 
though true, it would have answered our purpose just as well, if it had 
been entirely imaginary. Children generally, or at least often, have a 
very keen sensibility to the guilt of ingratitude. 

F 



122 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Moral insensibility. Spiritual blindness. The horse and his rider. 

attempts which they have made, to lead a little child to 
perceive the moral beauty of gratitude, and to yield their 
hearts to its influence. But the child will not see or feel. 
It understands the terms ; — it remembers its own sickness 
and its mother's kindness ; — it knows that its mother is now 
sick, and that its noisy plays produce inconvenience and 
suffering ; but every attempt to lead it to look at all these 
things in connection, and to perceive and feel its own in- 
gratitude, are vain. It has no perception of it, no sensibility 
to it. "I want to ride my horse a little more," is the idea 
that fills its whole soul ; and duty, gratitude, obligation, are 
unfelt and unseen. 

It is thus with you, my irreligious reader. Your heart has 
no spiritual perception of the guilt of ingratitude toward God, 
and the moral beauty and excellence of obedience to his law. 
You can look at the law, at God's character, at your own 
sins, at all the declarations of the Bible, but you do not feel 
their moral weight. The carnal, that is, the worldly mind, 
does not know them, because they are spiritually discerned. 

Objects of natural beauty may be seen in the same man- 
ner, and yet not appreciated. A traveler on horseback 
emerges from the wood, on the declivity of a mountain, and 
there suddenly bursts upon his view, a widely extended 
prospect of fertile valleys, and winding streams, and fields 
waving with corn, farmhouses and smiling villages, giving 
life to the scene. He stops to gaze at it with delight. His 
horse looks at it too, and sees it all as distinctly as his rider 
does. The fields look as green, and the groves as shady, 
and the streams glisten with as bright a reflection to one 
as to the other. But while the man gazes upon it with 
emotions of delight, the animal looks idly on, pleased with 
nothing but his moment's rest. All that is visible comes 
equally to both ; but beauty is felt, not seen. Though the 
eye may bring in those combinations of form and color, which 



HUMAN NATURE. 



123 



Insensibility. 



Spiritual perception. 




THE PROSPECT. 



are calculated to awaken the emotion, there must be a heart 
to feel, within, — or all will be mere vision ; — cold, lifeless, 
stupid vision. 

It is so with spiritual perception. You, my reader, may- 
understand the gospel most thoroughly, — you may have 
studied the Bible with diligence and care, and may see 
clearly and distinctly all its truths ; but there is a moral 
and spiritual meaning and power in them, to which the 
heart, while it remains worldly, remains utterly insensible. 
It does not see, it does not feel them. 

I know of nothing which more forcibly illustrates the cold 
insensibility of men to all that relates to God and holiness, 
and the salvation of the soul, than the trains of reflection 
which the unsanctined heart falls into, in its languid efforts 
to brills' itself under religious influence. Let us take one 



124 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



The common case. 



Scene at evening. 



Feelings. 



The soliloquy. 



case as a specimen of tens of thousands. The subject is a 
moral, upright young man, with an honest respect for re- 
ligion, and a distinct understanding of its truths. He has 
been taught his duty from early infancy, and has at length 
left his father's roof to come out into the world ; and as he 
has not espoused his Savior's cause, his conscience keeps up 
a perpetual murmur, which makes him restless and dissatis- 
fied and destroys his peace. He has all the time a resolution 
carefully laid up in his mind that he will become a Chris- 
tian before long. This makes him feel as though he were 
keeping salvation within his reach, and helps a little to quiet 
conscience. He has lately resumed the habit which he was 
early taught to establish, of reading a portion of Scripture 
before he retires to rest. This duty he generally performs, 
though in a cold and heartless manner, so that it does not in 
the least interfere with his leading, day after day, a life of 
irreligion and sin. In fact he would be ashamed to have it 
known that he reads the Bible every day. ■ 

He has just finished his chapter, and is sitting in his armed 
chair before the dying embers of his evening fire. He is 
alone, and it is near midnight. He walks to the window 
and looks for a few moments into the clear, cold sky, and a 
slight emotion swells in his heart as he thinks of the bound- 
less distance and inconceivable magnitude of the stars that 
he sees there. The feeling is mingled with a sort of poetic 
wish that he had a friend in the mighty Maker of them. He 
soon gets into a contemplative mood, and sits down again 
in his armed chair before the fire, where a train of thought 
something like the following passes in his mind. I insert it, 
not for its dignity, or its good taste, but because it is true to 
human nature. 






THE THOUGHTFUL SINNER S SOLILOQUY. 

" Oh, I do wish I was a Christian. I must attend to the 



HUMAN NATURE. 125 



Wandering thoughts. Reveries. - The confession. 

subject. I am now twenty-five, and half mankind do not 
live to be fifty, so that probably I am more than half through 
life. — I should like to know exactly what my chance of life 
is. They say insurance companies can tell exactly ; — won- 
der how they calculate. — 

" But I wish I was a Christian. I do not know how to 
repent. I will confess all my sins now, and try to feel peni- 
tence for them/ I will begin back in infancy. That lie 
that I told to my father about the book. Charles Williams 
sat on the same seat with me then. — Wonder where he is 
now." 

Here he gets into a reverie, about home and scenes of 
childhood ; presently he rises up and sighs, and begins to 
walk back and forth across the floor. 

" Oh ! how hard it is to confine my thoughts. Strange ; 
— going to judgment, — all my sins recorded, — coming up 
against me, and I have no heart to repent of them. Can 
see them, but can't feel. — Mr. W.'s sermon was not very 
clear. I do not understand how the judgment will be ar- 
ranged. Take a great deal of time.— Bible says Christ will 
judge the world. 

" But I must become a Christian. — And yet if I should, I 
must make a profession of religion. — Yery public. — What 
would they all say ? ." 

Here he stops to look out of the window, and seems lost, 
for a few moments, in vacancy. 

" Wonder who is sick in that house ; — bright light. How 
should I feel if I were taken sick to-night, and knew I was 
going to die ? — The time ivill come. 

" But my sins. — Let me see ; — I disobeyed my father and 
mother a great many times ; I used to take their things 
without leave, too. — Stealing, that ? — no, — not stealing, ex- 
actly. Why not ? Let me see. " 

He speculates a few minutes on this question of casuistry, 



126 THE CORNER-STONE. 



The cold, formal prayer. 



and then sighs deeply as he finds his thoughts wandering 
again, and makes another desperate effort to bring them 
back, 

"Oh! how I wish I could really feel my sins. I will 
pray to God to forgive them, and then go to bed ; I will sit 
down in my armed chair and pray. 

" Oh God, look down in mercy, and forgive all my sins. 

I confess I have been a great sinner IJiave, 1 am 

a great sinner, — I, (musing) — I that's a beautiful 

blue flame ; — — some chemical substance in the coals, — azure 

(musing) my God, forgive me, and enable me to 

repent of all my sins ; — beautiful ; — what a singular thing 
flame is, — distinct shape, but no substance. 

i: ! how my thoughts will wander. I wish I could con- 
fine them. What shall I do ? I will go to bed ; and pray 
there ; posture is of no consequence." 

He lies down and begins again to call for forgiveness, but 
very soon loses himself in a dreamy reverie, which terminates 
in a few moments, in sleep. 

As I have been writing the above, I have been on the 
point, again and again, of drawing my pen over the whole, 
as a wrong species of composition to introduce into such a 
work as this. But it tells the truth. Many of my readers 
will see their own faces reflected in it ; for as in water, face 
.answereth to face, so the heart of man to man. And it 
shows the real difficulty in the way of salvation, — a heart 
cold, insensible, and callous ; unbelief almost entirely darken- 
ing the soul, and pride destroying the effect of the little light 
which gains admission. 

The difficulty seems hopeless, too : that is, so far as human 
means will go toward removing it. I Every thing fails. In 
the hands of the Spirit of God, as we shall hereafter show, 
every thing does indeed, at times, succeed ; but in its ordi- 



HUMAN NATURE. 127 



Effect of sickness and suffering. The sick- man. A visit. 

nary operation, every means and every influence which can 
be brought to bear upon the human heart, fails of awaken- 
ing it. You can not possibly have a stronger case to present 
to men, than the claims of God's law, and you can not have 
a case in which argument, and eloquence, and instruction, 
and persuasion, if left to themselves, will be more utterly 
useless and vain. It is a common opinion among men, who 
are aware that all this is true in regard to their own hearts, 
that the coldness and insensibility which they feel will be 
dispelled by some future providence of God. They think that 
affliction will soften them, or sickness break the ties of earth, 
or approaching death arouse them to vigorous effort to flee 
from the wrath to come. But alas, there is little hope here. 
Affliction does good to the friends of God, but it imbitters 
and hardens his enemies. Sickness stupihes, and pain dis- 
tracts ; and approaching death, though it may alarm and 
terrify the soul which is unprepared for it, seldom melts the 
heart to penitence and love. I will describe a case, — it is a 
specimen of examples so numerous, that every village and 
neighborhood in our land might appropriate it, and every 
clergyman who reads it, might almost suppose that I took it 
from his own journal. 

A few years since, when spending a Sabbath in a beauti- 
ful country town, I was sent for to visit a sick man who w r as 
apparently drawing near the grave. I was told, as I walked 
with the neighbor who came for me, toward the house of 
the patient, that he was in a melancholy state of mind. 

" He has been," said he, " a firm believer and supporter 
of the truths of religion, for many years. He has been very 
much interested in maintaining religious worship, and all be- 
nevolent institutions ; he has loved the Sabbath School, and 
given his family every religious privilege. But he says that 
he has never really given his heart to God. He has been 



128 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Conversation by the way. 



The unfeeling heart. 



Consumption. 



devoted to the world, and even now, he says, it will not re- 
linquish its hold." * 

"Do you think," said I, " that he must die ?" 

" Yes," replied he, " he must die, and he is fully aware of 
it. He says that he can see his guilt and danger, but that 
his hard heart will not feel" 

This is the exact remark which is made in thousands and 
thousands of similar cases, and in almost precisely the same 
language. The eyes are opened, hut the heart remains 
unchanged. 

We at length approached the house. It was in the midst 
of a delightful village, and in one of those calm, still, sum- 
mer afternoons, when all nature seems to speak from every 
tree, and leaf, and flower, of the goodness of God, and to 
breathe the spirit of repose and peace. I wondered that a man 
could lie on his bed, with windows all around him opening 
upon such a scene as this, and yet not feel. 

As I entered the sick-room, the pale and emaciated patient 
turned toward me an anxious and agitated look, which 
showed too plainly what was passing within. It was a case 
of consumption. His sickness had been long and lingering 
as if by the gradual manner in which he had been drawn 
away from life, God had been endeavoring to test by experi- 
ment, the power of approaching death to draw the heart to- 
ward him. His strength was now almost gone, and he lay 
gasping for the breath which his wasted lungs could not re- 
ceive. His eye moved with a quick and anxious glance 
around the room, saying, by its expression of bright intelli- 
gence, that the mind retained undiminished power. 

I endeavored to bring to his case those truths which I 
thought calculated to influence him, and lead him to the Sa- 
vior ; but he knew before, all that I could tell him ; and I 
learned from his replies, given in panting whispers, that re- 
ligious truth had been trying its whole strength upon him ah 



HUMAN NATURE. 129 



Hopeless condition. 



his life, and that in presenting it to him again now, I was 
only attempting once more, an experiment, which had "been 
repeated in vain, almost every day for forty years. I saw the 
utter hopelessness of effort, and stood by his bedside in silent 
despair. He died that night. 

My reader, if your heart is cold and hard toward God, 
abandon all hope that the alarm and anxiety of a death- 
bed will change it. Seek moral renewal and forgiveness 
now. 



130 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Character of the Deitv. 



Efficiency in government. 



CHAPTER V. 

PUNISHMENT, OR THE CONSEQUENCES OF HUMAN GUILT. 
" He will miserably destroy those wicked men." 

There are perhaps one thousand millions of men upon the 
earth at this time, of which probably nine hundred and 
ninety-nine millions entertain the feelings toward God which 
are described in the last chapter, and act accordingly. The 
question at once arises, what will God do with them. 

The reader will perhaps recollect, that in the first chaptei 
of this work, when considering the character of the Deity, 
we found that one of its most prominent traits, is deter- 
mined decision in the execution of law. This is a trait 
which shows itself as conspicuously in all nature around us, 
as it does in the declarations of the Bible ; but one which 
unfortunately is not very favorably regarded in this world. 
Efficiency in government is approved or disapproved, accord- 
ing to the character of the individual who judges it. An ef- 
ficient administration secures protection and happiness to the 
good, but to the bad it brings suffering, and perhaps destruc- 
tion. It is natural, therefore, that the latter should be very 
slow to praise the justice which they fear ; and in this world 
the proportion is so large of those that God's efficiency as a 
moral Governor will bear very heavily upon, that the whole 
subject is exceedingly unpopular among mankind. 

It is curious to observe how men's estimates of the same 
conduct vary according to the way in which they are them- 






PUNISHMENT. 131 



Different estimates of it. The forgery. Severe punishment. 

selves to be affected by it ; for nothing is more admired and 
applauded among men, than efficiency in the execution of 
law, in all cases where they are themselves safe from its 
penalties. There have been, it is true, great disputes in re- 
spect to the bounds which ought to be assigned to political 
governments, or, in other words, to the degree of power which 
the magistrate ought to possess. But within these bounds,— in 
the exercise of this power, — every body admires and praises 
firmness, energy, and inflexible decision. Nobody objects to 
these qualities, except the criminal who has to suffer for the 
safety of the rest. He always protests against them. 

About fifty years ago an English clergyman of elevated 
rank and connections, and of high literary reputation, com- 
mitted forgery. The law of England declares that the 
forger must die. Now England is a highly commercial 
country, and all the transactions of business there connected 
with the employment, and the sustenance, and the property 
of millions and millions, entirely depend upon confidence in 
the truth of a written signature. Destroy the general confi- 
dence in the identity of a man's handwriting in signing his 
name, and all the business of the island would be embar- 
rassed or stopped, and universal confusion, distress, and ruin 
would follow in a day. The man, therefore, who counter- 
feits a signature in such a country, points his dagger at the 
very vital organs of society. 

The law of England does right, therefore, in affixing a very 
severe penalty to the crime of forgery, not for the purpose of 
revenging itself on the hapless criminal, but for the sake of 
protecting that vast amount of property, and those millions 
of lives, which are dependent upon the general confidence in 
the writing of a name. It is a sad thing for a clergyman of 
refined and cultivated mind, to pass through the scenes which 
such a law prepared for him. Consternation, when de- 
tected ; long hours of torturing suspense, before his trial ; in- 



132 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Necessity for it. 



Alternative. 



describable suffering when, on being brought to the bar, he 
sees the proof brought out, step by step, clearly against him, 
and witnesses the unavailing efforts of his counsel to make 
good his defense ; and the sinking of spirit, like death itself, 

while the judge pro- 
nounces the sentence 
which seals his awful 
fate. Then he is re- 
manded to prison, to 
spend some days or 
weeks in uninterrupt- 
ed and indescribable 
agony, until his facul- 
ties become bewildered 
and overpowered by 
the influence of hor- 
ror and despair ; and 
he walks out at last, 
pale, trembling, and 
haggard, to finish his 

DO ' 

earthly sufferings by 
Sad consequences these, 




THE FORGER. 



the convulsive struggles of death, 
we admit, although they come only upon one ; — and all for 
just affixing another man's name to a piece of paper, without 
any intention of defrauding any body ! For it is highly 
probable that in this case, as in many similar ones, the 
criminal meant, in mercantile language, to have ^ aken up the 
paper before it fell due. In fact, he must have designed this, 
for this would be the only way to escape certain detection. 
Awful results, we admit, for a sin so quickly, and so thought- 
lessly committed ; but not so sad as it would be to let the 
example go on, — until the frequency of forgery should destroy 
all mutual confidence between man and man, and business 
be stopped, and millions of families be reduced to beggary. 



PUNISHMENT. 133 



Consequences of yielding to crime. Public sentiment. Petitions. 

Better that here and there a violator of the law should suffer 
its penalties, than that the foundations of society should he 
sapped, and the whole structure tumble into ruin. The 
question, therefore, for the government of that island, was 
simply this : will you be firm, notwithstanding individual 
suffering, in executing the law, or will you yield, and take 
the consequences ? If you yield, you open the flood-gates of 
crime and suffering upon the country ; and there will be no 
place to stop, if you once give way to crime, till the land be- 
comes one wide-spread scene of desolation, — famine raging 
in every hamlet, — banditti lurking in the valleys or riding in 
troops upon the highways, — and wretched mothers with their 
starving babes, roaming through the streets of desolated Lon- 
don, in a fruitless search for food. That was the question ; 
and the energetic government of the country understood it so. 
The unhappy criminal gave every indication of penitence. 
He was universally believed to be truly penitent then, and is 
universally believed to have been so now. All England, 
too, with one voice, sent in earnest petitions for his pardon. 
But it was in vain. The British ministry understood their 
duty better, and though it was perhaps as painful a duty as 
a government ever had to discharge, they were firm and un- 
yielding to the last. They gave the wretched criminal nei- 
ther pardon nor reprieve ; and though they would probably 
have submitted to almost any personal suffering, to save him, 
they were compelled to leave him to drink to the full, the 
bitter consequences of his sin. 

There were thousands and thousands of petitioners in his 
favor who were led to ask for a pardon, overcome by com- 
passion for the man. The tide of popular feeling was alto- 
gether against the government then, for men generally are 
weak-minded, inefficient, yielding, when the performance of 
duty is painful. But since the time has gone by, and the 
momentary weakness of the occasion has passed away, there 



134 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Public sentiment now. 



Impartiality. 



Opinions influenced by character. 



has been as strong a tide of public approbation in their favor. 
In fact this so conspicuous and so terrible a case of sin and 
suffering, has made a permanent impression, not only upon 
England, but upon the whole civilized world. Eveiy man 
feels it. He may not trace back the feeling to its origin, but 
it is undoubtedly, in a very great degree owing to this and 
precisely similar transactions, that that distinct and almost 
indelible impression has been made upon the community, 
and is handed down from generation to generation, which 
connects in every mind, such strong and mysterious associa- 
tions of sacredness with the signature of the written name. 
From that day to this every writer who has commented upon 
the transaction, while he has many expressions of sympathy 
for the suffering of the criminal, has a far more emphatic 
tribute of praise for the inflexible firmness and decision which 
refused to relieve it. 

We are, in a great measure, incapacitated from regarding 
some transactions, analogous to this, in a correct manner, on 
account of their coming too near to ourselves ; but this one 
can be understood ; its moral bearings and relations are seen 
as they are, without distortion ; and the simple fact which 
enables us to take the view of this subject which truth and 
justice present, is this, — we have not committed forgery our- 
selves. Suppose there had been in the prison where this 
unhappy criminal was confined, a room full of other forgers, 
and their opinion had been asked about the justice or the 
necessity of condemning him. Could they be made to under- 
stand it ? No ; they would be vociferous in their outcries 
at the unjust severity of inflicting such protracted and terri- 
ble suffering for so little a sin. We however can understand 
it, for we are impartial observers. We have not committed 
the crime, and we consequently have nothing to fear from 
sustaining the law. We rather see the value of an efficient 
administration of justice, in the protection which it affords 



PUNISHMENT. 135 



Points illustrated. Time spent in sin. Fifteen seconds. 

to our rights, and in the addition it makes to our happiness. 
I have accordingly taken this case to present to' my readers, 
to illustrate four or five points, which we can see more plain- 
ly than when we look at them directly in the government of 
God. As I enumerate the points which such a case illus- 
trates, let the reader listen to the voice of reason and con- 
science within, and he will find that it testifies in their 
favor. 

1. The time spent in committing the sin, has nothing to 
do with the just duration of the punishment of it. It took 
Dr. Dodd fifteen seconds, to write Lord Chesterfield's name. 
He suffered indescribable agony for many months, and was 
then blotted from existence for it. He would have lived 
perhaps forty years. So that here, for a sin of fifteen sec- 
onds, justice took forty years in penalty. She took more ; foi 
he would have been glad to have exchanged death for forty 
years of exile and suffering. In fact he petitioned for such 
a commutation. 

Some one may say that I fix too small a time for the com- 
mission of the sin ; — that he spent many hours and perhaps 
days in devising his plans, and practicing his counterfeit 
signature, and getting his bond drawn; and that his guilt 
was extended over all this period. His guilt might have 
been indeed thus extended, but it must be remembered that 
he was not punished for guilt. He was punished for crime. 
If the last fatal act had not been performed, he would not 
have committed any offense against human law. God might 
have punished him, but man would not ; — so that, strictly 
and fairly, the fifteen seconds spent in delineating the letters 
of his pupil's name, was the whole. For a sin of fifteen 
seconds, then, there followed a penalty worse than a suffer- 
ing for forty years ; and mankind have, by common consent, 
from that day to this, pronounced the punishment just. 

2. Desert of punishment does not depend upon intention 



136 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Bad intentions. Immediate consequences. Inconsiderateness. 

to do injury. The forger, in this case, had not the least 
intention of doing injury. He could not have had such an 
intention, for Lord Chesterfield could not have been called 
upon to pay the bond without causing instant detection. 
This fact however was no reason why he should go free. The 
question was not what injury he intended to commit, but what 
injury really would follow, if his crime should go unpunished. 

3. Desert of punishment does not depend upon the imme- 
diate consequences of the sin. The evil of sin consists not 
in the direct injury of the single transgression, but in the 
ruinous effects resulting to the community, when it is allow- 
ed to go unpunished. The only direct injury which could 
have resulted from the crime in question, was the loss of four 
thousand pounds by one individual. Fifty times that sum 
might probably have been raised to save the unhappy crimi- 
nal's life, but it would have been unavaiHng. He was 
executed, not for putting to hazard the four thousand pounds, 
but for endangering the vital interests of an immense com- 
munity. The four thousand pounds has nothing to do with 
the case. It would have been the same if it had been forty 
pounds. The sin was the forgery r , not the endangering of 
four thousand pounds. 

Men are always disposed to estimate their guilt by the 
time employed in committing the sin, or by the direct conse- 
quences resulting from it ; and fancy that they deserve but 
little punishment, because they think that their transgres- 
sions have occupied but little time, and can of themselves do 
no great, immediate injury. 

4. Desert of punishment does not depend upon the degree 
of distinctness with which the consequences are foreseen. 
The criminal here had no idea that he was involving himself 
in such dreadful difficulty ; but this inconsideration was no 
admissible plea. 

Hearts injthis world which give themselves up to sin, are 



PUNISHMENT. 137 



Object of punishment. - Not revenge. 

unconcerned about its guilt, and have no idea of the awful 
consequences which are to ensue ; but this will not, can not, 
alter those consequences. 

5. The object of punishment is not revenge against the 
individual. IsTo one felt any sentiment of revenge against 
he forger in the case of which we are speaking. There 
was one common and universal desire to save him,- — 
and that in the very community which alone could suffer 
injury from his crime. The government w r ould most gladly 
have pardoned him, if they could have done it safely. No one 
wished that he should suffer. The only reason for insisting 
upon it was, that the suffering of the criminal in such a case 
can alone arrest the consequences of the sin. In many and 
many an instance has the chief magistrate of a state had the 
strength of his moral principle tried to the utmost by the 
importunities of a whole community, and more than all the 
rest, of the wretched wife and children of the criminal. A 
weak man, in such a case, will yield. His desire to save 
individual suffering, will induce him to take a step which 
will hazard all that society holds most dear. Instead of any 
feelings of resentment against the individual to urge him on, 
there is a deep emotion of compassion for him, to keep him 
back ; so that if he is firm and does his duty, it must be 
because moral principle carries him forward, against the 
strong tide of feeling with which his heart pleads for the 
life of a fellow- creature. 

It is so in the government of Jehovah. If any of us 
should be so happy, as, after finishing our pilgrimage in this 
vale of tears, to be admitted to our happy home in the skies, 
God will assuredly protect us forever from the sins and the 
sinners which have brought so much misery here. He will 
be firm and unyielding, in the execution of his law ; but he 
will pity the sufferings w T hich he must not relieve. He takes 
no pleasure in the death of the wicked. 



138 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Moral impression. 



The petition. 



Satisfying justice. 



6. The object of punishment on the other hand, is, a moral 
impression upon the community, designed to arrest the ruinous 
consequences of sin. We have seen under the last head, 
that it is not resentment against the individual which 
demands the punishment. The forger knew it was not, in 
his case, resentment that stood in the way of his pardon ; and 
in his petition for pardon he said nothing with the view of 
allaying any personal hostility felt against him, but only 
endeavored to show how the necessary moral impression 
might be made without his death. The following paragraph 
from a petition which he offered to the king, shows this. 

" I confess the crime, and own the enormity of its con- 
sequences, and the danger of its example. Nor have I the 
confidence to petition for impunity ; but humbly hope, that 
public security may be established, without the spectacle of 
a clergyman dragged through the streets to a death of 
infamy, amidst the derision of the profligate and profane ; 
and that justice may be satisfied with irrevocable exile, per- 
petual disgrace, and hopeless penury." 



It is evident from this, what object the petitioner sup- 
posed it to be, which required his death. And in all his 
efforts to avoid death, his plan was to show that the proper 
moral impression might be made on the community without 
it, so as, in his own words, " to establish the public security' 1 
— il to satisfy justice;" expressions which are almost pre- 
cisely those used by religious writers in describing God's 
design in punishing sin, and which are spurned by the dis- 
believers in a judgment to come, as expressions having no 
meaning, or else signifying something unjust or absurd. 
" To satisfy justice;''' — a metaphorical expression certainly, 
but one which any man can understand if he will. The 
great English philologist, for it was Dr. Johnson who penned 



PUNISHMENT. 139 



Salvation by Christ. Penitence. Its power in averting punishment. 

this petition for the unhappy criminal, will hardly be charged 
with using under such circumstances, unmeaning, or unintel- 
ligible language. If the man had been pardoned, a violence 
would have been done to the sense of justice which reigns in 
every man's bosom, that would have worked incalculable 
injury. It would have undermined the authority of law, and 
brought down the standard of moral obligation ; and every 
man would have felt, as soon as the excitement of the occa- 
sion was past, that the firm foundations of commercial con- 
fidence throughout the empire had been rendered insecure. 

The object then, in endeavoring to procure the pardon of 
this criminal, was to devise some way to prevent these evils, 
without his death ; — some way to satisfy justice, and sus- 
tain law, and make a moral impression which the govern- 
ment well knew would be made by the destruction of the 
man. No such way could be found, and the poor criminal 
was compelled to submit to his fate. 

What this poor sufferer's learned and eloquent advocate 
failed to find, for him, Jesus Christ our Savior succeeded in 
finding for us ; — a way by which to satisfy justice, and sus- 
tain law, and make a moral impression which should arrest 
the sad consequences of guilt, and render it safe that we 
should be forgiven. We shall consider this however more 
fully in the sequel. 

7. The necessity of punishment is not diminished by the 
penitence of the sinner. All mankind know and admit this, 
excepting in their own case. There, they always have an 
undefined but fixed impression that penitence settles the 
whole difficulty. There is perhaps as good evidence that 
this forger was penitent as there can be, in such a case ; but 
penitence, however deep and however sincere, could have no 
power to arrest the consequences which the community must 
suffer from unpunished crime. If the gratification of per- 
gonal resentment against the criminal had been the reason 



140 



THE COPwNER-STONE. 



It makes pardon desirable. 



Application of principles. 



for insisting on the penalty of violated law, then repentance 
would have been a valid plea, as it would have removed all 
personal resentment, and turned human sympathy in his 
favor. Repentance always increases the desire to forgive, 
but it never of itself opens the way. That is the distinction 
I repeat it ; it does a great deal toward making pardon 
desirable ; but alone, it does nothing toward making it safe. 
That is, it does nothing toward making that impression on 
the community which the connection of crime with suffering 
always makes, and which is necessary in order to arrest the 
ruinous consequences of sin. If, then, the question of pardon 
came up at all in the British cabinet, the stronger the 
evidence was that the criminal was penitent for his sin, the 
more painful would the duty of insisting on justice be ; but 
the necessity of performing the duty would remain un- 
changed. 

We have taken this case because it is well known, and 
because the common sense of mankind, from that day to 
this, has pronounced but one decision upon it. The in- 
ferences which we have drawn out from it, might be 
almost equally well illustrated by any case of sin and 
punishment which takes place in any government, parental 
or political. These truths are so plain, that no man can 
or will deny them, excepting in his own case, or in some 
case which comes so near to him as to bias his feelings. 
They are the principles by which the Bible declares that 
Jehovah will be guided in the administration of his govern- 
ment. The punishment due to transgression will not be 
regulated by the briefness of the time spent in the com- 
mission of the sin ; — it will not be measured by the small- 
ness of the immediate injury ; — the sinner may have had 
no intention to invade the peace and happiness of God's 
great family ; — he may have been entirely unaware of the 
consequences which were to follow ; — he may be over • 






PUNISHMENT. 141 



Nature and effects of sin. - Cock-fighting. 

whelmed with consternation and sorrow when he finds 
what the bitter fruits must be ; — he may offer reparation 
a hundred-fold ; — but all in vain. Even repentance, sin- 
cere and humble repentance, will be insufficient to save 
him. For it is not personal resentment against the indi- 
dual, nor desire to repair the immediate injury effected 
by the specific sin, which leads to the infliction of the 
penalty. If it were, repentance would remove the one, and 
a comparatively slight effort, effect the other. But it is not 
these. It is that sin, that evil and bitter thing, wherever it 
comes, blights and destroys. Just so far as it gains admis- 
sion into God's dominions, peace and happiness fly, — harmony 
is broken up, — man hates and oppresses his fellow-man, and 
all conspire against God. We feel not its miseries and its 
horrors because we have become hardened to them, and 
the heart is stupid and insensible to guilt in which it is 
itself involved. 

Men see and understand guilt in a degree, sometimes, 
when it starts upon them in some new and unexpected form, 
while they are entirely blind to far greater enormities which 
they have themselves assisted to make common. A whole 
town was once shocked by the disclosure of a scene of vice 
and cruelty, which was to the mass of the inhabitants, a new 
and unusual form of sin. It was cock-fighting. Cruel, un- 
relenting wretches prepared their victims for the contest, by 
sawing off their natural spurs, and fastening deadlier ones of 
steel upon the bleeding trunks. Then, having forced the in- 
nocent animals to a quarrel, by thrusting each against the 
other till they provoked them to anger, they sat around to 
enjoy the spectacle of their combat. The whole community 
was shocked by it, for this was sin in a new and unexpected 
form, and one in which they had not themselves personally 
•partaken. But when the same experiment, precisely, is tried 
with men, the world looks on calmly and unmoved. Mili- 



142 THE CORNER-STONE. 

War. Human insensibility to sin. Threatened destruction. 

tary leaders bring human beings together by thousands, men 
who have no quarrel, and would gladly live in peace. Thev 
drive them up together front to front, and having armed them 
with weapons of torture and death, which nature never fur- 
nished, they succeed, half by compulsion, and half by mali- 
cious art, in getting the first blows struck, and the first blood 
flowing, as a means of bringing the angry passions of the 
combatants into play. This they call getting the men en- 
gaged ! There is no trouble after this. The work goes on ; 
— a work of unutterable horror. The blood, the agony, the 
thirst, the groans which follow, are nothing. It is the raging 
fires of hatred, anger, revenge, and furious passion, which 
nerve every arm, and boil in every heart, and with which 
thousands upon thousands pour in crowds into the presence 
of their Maker ; — these are what constitute the real horrors 
of a battle-field. And what do mankind say to this ? Why 
a few Christian moralists feebly remonstrate, but the great 
mass of men gather around the scene as near as they can get 
to it, by history and description, and admire the systematic 
arrangements of the battle, and watch the progress and the 
manceuvers of the hostile armies, as they would the changes 
in a game of chess : — and were it not for the flying bullet, 
they would throng around the scene in person. But when 
it comes to sawing off the spurs of a game-cock, and exas- 
perating him against his fellow, — oh ! that is shocking 
cruelty : — that they can not bear ! 

We do not realize the nature, and the effects of any sin, 
when we have been long habituated to it, nor perceive that 
guilt in which we are personally involved. But this will 
not alter the case. God will cherish no personal resentment 
against sinners, and no wish to put them to suffering. But 
the awful consequences of sin among his creatures must be 
stopped : — and in order to stop it, the wretched souls who' 
choose it for their portion must be destroyed. 



PUNISHMENT. 143 



The alternative. Open :mbelief. Indifference. 

Destroyed ? It is a strong expression, but God has chosen 
it. We take it from his word, and Ave may not use a 
gentler one. " All the wicked will he destroy." 

" The Lord Jesus shall be revealed from heaven with his 
mighty angels, — in flaming fire, taking vengeance on therr, 
that know not God, and that obey not the Gospel of our Lord 
Jesus Christ ; — who shall be punished with everlasting de- 
struction from the presence of the Lord, and froni the glory 
of his power." 

Destruction ! It is a word in regard to which all com- 
ment is useless, and all argument vain. Perverted ingenuity 
might modify, and restrain even such expressions as eternal, 
and everlasting, but destruction, — it bids defiance to cavil- 
ing : it extinguishes hope. Everlasting destruction ! 
We are left to the single alternative of. admitting the terrible 
truth, or positively refusing to take God's word. 

Of this alternative, men choose different sides. They who 
are determined to live in vice and sin, openly deny God's dec- 
laration. Reasoning with them is useless. Can you expect 
to find any words plainer than "everlasting destruction?" 
No : the difficulty is with the heart. Till this is touched, 
demonstration is useless : — but then, when the conscience is 
awakened, and the heart feels, the difficulty is over : — doubts 
about the Judgment to come, vanish like the dew. 

This open contradiction of the word of God is, however, 
perhaps a smaller evil than the lurking, secret unbelief which 
reigns in almost every heart. The number who openly deny 
what God declares, in regard to the desert and the punish- 
ment of sin, is very small ; but the number of those who 
really, and from their hearts, believe it, is, very probably, 
smaller still. Between these two extremes lie the vast ma- 
jority of the human race,- — asleep; too faithless to believe, 
and too stupid and indifferent to take the trouble to deny. 
They do not reason aloud upon the subject, but there is a 



144 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Mistaken views. The guilt of sinning against God. Case of the child. 

lurking feeling in their hearts that they have heen sinners 
only for a little time ; they have, they think, no malicious 
intentions, no direct hatred of God ; their guilt is that of 
thoughtlessness and inadvertence, and the mischief is slight 
which immediately follows. Many a young person secretly 
reasons thus after spending years in decided and determined 
neglect of God. The plea which he puts in is just the same 
as if the forger had urged in his petition for pardon, that it 
took him only fifteen seconds to commit the crime, that he 
had no malicious intentions toward the community in com- 
mitting it, and that the sum which was hazarded, was only 
four thousand pounds. He can not, .he infers, deserve death 
for this. He overlooks altogether the wide-spread evils that 
would desolate the whole community, should the work which 
he thus begins be allowed to go on. 

So the sinner, a child of ten years old, who has lived a 
comparatively amiable and harmless life, wonders what there 
can be in his life and character deserving of the terrific retri- 
bution which God has denounced upon him. I will tell you 
what it is, my child. It is not the length of the ten years, 
during which you have been living in sin. That is nothing. 
It is not the inconvenience and suffering that you have occa- 
sioned your parents. If you had been to them, during all 
this time, an unceasing source of pain and anxiety, it would be 
comparatively nothing. It is not the injury which you have 
often done to your playmates by your guilty passions ; if that 
injury had been ten times as frequent, and ten times as great 
as it has been, it would be comparatively nothing. It is not 
that you have directly opposed and hated God ; I admit that 
you have had no distinctly malicious intention toward him. 
It is not those things, therefore. What it is, however, is 
this, namely, that there is a great controversy going on, 
whether God shall reign or not among the beings he has 
made, when nothing but his reign can save them from uni- 



PUNISHMENT. 145 



The spread of sin must be stopped. Sin overruled lor good. The forgery 



versal disorder and misery, and from becoming the victims 
of every kind of guilt : and in this controversy you have 
taken the wrong side. It is a sad, a very sad thing, for a 
child like you to linger forever in guilt and misery, but it 
would be a far more melancholy thing for the rebellion 
against God, which has poisoned all the sources of happiness 
here, to spread throughout God's empire, withering and de- 
stroying wherever it comes. So that the charge against you 
is not based upon the injury which your individual sins have 
already produced ; but upon this, namely, that by deliberately 
rejecting God, you take the side of sin and misery ; you do 
all in your power to bring off God's creatures from their al- 
legiance to him ; you place yourself exactly across the way 
over which the mighty wheels of Jehovah's government are 
coming, and the chariot can not be turned aside to save you, 
without destruction to the rest. 

But we must return once more to the forgery, for the sake 
of deducing one farther inference, and then we take our final 
leave of the illustration. 

8. Sin may be overruled so as to result in good. I intro- 
duce this subject with great hesitation, for it opens one of 
those obscure and boundless fields of thought, which are not 
unfrequently presenting themselves before us in looking into 
the mighty government of God. Clouds and mists hang 
over it ; some objects are entirely concealed, and some we 
see but indistinctly, notwithstanding our most eager efforts 
to fix their forms-. Now and then the shades and darkness 
break away a little, and we get a glimpse, far on in a per- 
spective of difficulty and doubt ; but before we have time to 
fix the knowledge which we have obtained, the clouds close 
in again, and all is once more darkness and gloom. The 
self-sufficient and shallow intellect, which never really thinks, 
but takes upon trust what its leaders tell it, or studies only 
to find proof of what it is determined, at all events, to believe, 

G 



146 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Its beneficial effects. 



Moral impression. 



never experiences what I now mean ; but no man can lay 
aside authority, and shake off the fetters of every bias, and 
come, with a free, untrammeled mind, to look into the moral 
government of God, without being often confounded and lost 
in the sublime obscurities which continually gather round 
his way. I make these remarks because it is to such an 
obscure and darkened field that I point the reader now. 

Sin may be overruled for good. It is highly probable that 
the forgery which we have been considering, resulted in the 
most beneficial effects to the whole community affected by it. 
The sin and the penalty which followed, were most conspic- 
uously displayed. There was scarcely a man in the whole 
British empire who did not know these facts at the time of 
their occurrence, and who did not watch the progress of the 
efforts which were made to save the criminal. Every one 
knew that the administration cherished no malicious or 
resentful feelings against the sufferer ; and that if they re- 
fused to pardon him, it was only because the public safety, 
in. their view, imperiously forbade it. Thus the attention of 
the whole community was called to the nature and conse- 
quences of this crime, and a moral impression was produced 
which must have been inconceivably beneficial in its effects. 
The case made men look with a feeling of respect, almost 
amounting to awe, upon the written signature ; — and attach 
a sacredness to it, which, though it is nothing more than a 
mental impression, is probably one of the greatest safeguards 
to property which the institutions or customs of civilized life 
afford. We do not mean that this instance has been the 
sole promoter of this feeling ; but that instances like this 
have produced it ; and this has been efficient above all 
others, just in proportion as it has been conspicuous beyond 
the rest. 

The effect of the moral impression produced by this forgery 
and it? punishment, was not confined to the particular class 



PUNISHMENT. 147 



Good often done by the commission and the punishment of sin. 



of offenses which it brought more directly to view. It sus- 
tained the general authority of law. It spoke, in a voice 
which could not he misunderstood, of the nature of guilt, and 
the ground and the necessity of punishment; and it sent 
forth a warning to every village and neighborhood in the 
land, — a warning which has been remembered to this day. 
The transaction has, in fact, been appealed to continually, 
from that time to this, in proof of the incorruptible majesty 
of British law. 

So true is this, that if an English statesman at the time, 
had regarded only the effect of the transaction upon the 
community, he would not have regretted its occurrence. If 
he could have overlooked the misery of the poor criminal, he 
would even have rejoiced at it, as a transaction destined to 
result in immense public benefit. In fact it has undoubtedly 
often happened that a government has actually rejoiced in 
the commission of an individual crime which could be made, 
by exemplary punishment, the means of producing a moral 
impression which would save the community from some 
general threatening danger. Yes ; where the circumstances 
of the offense have been favorable for this purpose, they have 
actually rejoiced at it. They have rejoiced, too, not merely 
that the criminal was detected, but that the crime was com- 
mitted, — as it gave them the opportunity to arrest far greater 
evils than the suffering of the offender. The most humane 
and benevolent magistrate, and even the teacher of a school 
or the father of a family, will often find cases, where the 
moral effects produced upon the community under his care, 
by some offense and its consequences, have been so beneficial 
that he can hardly regret the occurrence. We may go even 
farther than this. If it had come within the power of a 
statesman to do it, and if he had looked only at the general 
good, and not at the sufferings of the individual, he could not 
have adopted a wiser measure, to strengthen general conn 



148 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Difficulty. 



Divine power over the human heart. 



The traveler. 






dence in the authentication of a document by a written 
name, than by actually producing such a conspicuous case 
of forgery, and inflicting its punishment. Of course, to do 
this is entirely beyond the limits of human power ; and the 
mind shrinks back baffled and bewildered from the vain 
attempt to understand the degree of power which God can 
exercise in respect to the moral agency of the beings he has 
formed. Does any thing depend upon contingencies which 
he can not control ? If not, then it would seem that there 
is not any thing, not even transgression, which is not a part 
of his design. The origin of sin, and the reasons why it is 
permitted, if he only permits it, or ordained, if we consider 
him in all things absolute and supreme, is a subject in which 
the human faculties are confounded and lost. It opens be- 
fore us one of those vistas of dread uncertainty and doubt, 
which we have already described. Shall we assign any 
limits to the sovereignty of Almighty God, in regard to the 
moral conduct of his creatures ? Conflicting feelings declare 
that we must, and that w r e must not ; and reason stands 
overwhelmed and confounded by the grandeur and the pro- 
foundness of the recesses, which she attempts, in vain, to 
explore. We are like the traveler, lost at midnight in the 
dark glens of the mountains, where frowning precipices hang 
over his head, and forests, in silence and solitude, stretch 
away before him. Mists float through the valleys, and heavy 
clouds hang over the summits of the mountains or move 
slowly along their sides. A momentary opening admits to 
his straining eyes a vista of grove and cliff and glen, which 
the moon, brightening for an instant, reveals to him ; but 
before he has time to separate reality from shadow, or to gain 
one distinct impression, the heavy cloud rolls over him again, 
shuts out his light, cuts off his view, and leaves him bewil- 
dered and in darkness. It is so with many a region of reli- 
gious truth. The human mind, when it has fairly entered 



PUNISHMENT. 14 ( J 



Spirit of controversy. God is to be feared. ' The Savior. 

it, is bewildered and lost in the mazy scene. Sometimes an 
opening in the clouds in which it is enveloped, gives a mo- 
mentary and partial glimpse of the objects around, and while 
the thoughts are eagerly reaching forward through the vista, 
almost thinking that every cloud is about to break away and 
disappear, thick shades and darkness come over it again. 
Hope revives for a moment, as the moonlight beam of reason 
feebly shines on some new object, in some new direction ; 
but it revives only to be again extinguished as before. Into 
this scene noisy controversy loves to enter, to dispute about 
what she can not see, and to profane the sublimity which she 
can not appreciate ; but intelligent and humble piety stands 
awed, submissive and silent, feeling her own helpless feeble- 
ness, and adoring the incomprehensible majesty of God. 

But to return ; " God is love," is one part of the inspired 
delineation of his character. " God is a consuming fire," is 
equally distinct, and it comes from equally high authority. 
There is, however, a common understanding among men 
that they will read and appreciate the former declaration, 
while the latter is almost wholly passed by. In fact, there 
is among many persons, and even sometimes among Chris- 
tians, a feeling that God must be considered and represented 
as a father only, not as a magistrate ; children must be 
taught to love him, not to fear him ; and those terrible de- 
nunciations which frown on every page of the Bible are kept 
out of view. It is even thought by many persons that there 
is a kind of harshness and inhumanity in representing God as 
he is, a God of terrible majesty, and in holding up distinctly 
and clearly to view the awful retributions which he threatens, 
with any design to deter men by fear, from breaking his laws. 
But Jesus Christ thought not so. "Fear him," says he, 
"who can destroy both soul and body in. hell. Yea .1 
say unto you, fear him." He never shrunk from bringing 



150 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Insensibility to God's threatened judgments. A form of unbelief. 

fully to view the undying worm, — the ceaseless torment, — 
the inextinguishable fire. We are too benevolent, say some 
to believe such things, or to teach such things. Then they 
are more benevolent than the Savior. He had love enough 
for men to tell them plainly the truth ; but these, it seefris, 
have more. I do not speak here merely of those who openly 
deny the declarations of the Bible on this subject, but of a 
very large portion of the Christian church, who never trem- 
ble themselves, or teach their children to tremble, at the 
wrath to come. Many a Christian reader of the Bible passes 
over its pages, thinking that such truths are all for others, 
when in fact they are peculiarly needed by himself. He is a 
professor of religion, he thinks that his peace is made with 
God, and that consequently the terrors of a coming judgment 
are nothing to him. In the mean time, he leads a worldly 
life, — he does, day after day, what he knows to be wrong, — 
frustrating the grace of God, by making his vain hope of for- 
giveness the very opiate which lulls him into sin. As to 
threatened punishment, it passes by him like the idle wind. 
God is a father, he says ; his government is paternal ; and 
the language which proclaims his threatened judgments is 
eastern metaphor, or, if it has any serious meaning, it is in- 
tended for others, not for him. 

If, however, we look throughout the Bible for the subject 
which is presented with the greatest prominence and em- 
phasis there, the one which is pressed most directly, with 
reference to a strong and continual influence upon human 
minds, we shall find that it is the unshrinking and terrible 
decision, with which, under the government of God, sin will 
be punished ; and yet how very few there are, even in the 
most enlightened Christian community, and in the very bo- 
som of the church, who stand in any daily fear of the judg- 
ment to come. So settled and universal is this feeling, that 
some readers will perhaps be surprised at the idea, that fear 



PUNISHMENT. 151 



Christians should be affected by it. Probation. Debt and credit. 

of God's Judgments should have a place in the bosom of the 
church. " There is no fear in love," they will say ; " perfect 
love casteth out fear." So it does, but it must be perfect love ; 
and when a church has attained to this, — when sin is ban- 
ished from every soul. — and the world is finally abandoned, 
— and God reigns, in supreme, and unquestioned, and unin- 
terrupted sway, — and every heart is a temple of perfect 
purity and holiness, — then may its members cease to think 
of the danger of God's displeasure. Then ; but not till then. 

The great foundation of the almost universal unbelief 
which prevails, in respect to the consequences of sin, rests in 
the heart. Man is unwilling to believe what condemns and 
threatens himself. But while the origin is in the heart, the 
intellect assists in maintaining the delusion, and this chiefly 
through the mistake of considering moral obligation as of the 
nature of debt and credit, instead of regarding God's govern- 
ment as it really is, a system of probation. The meaning of 
probation is understood well enough in reference to this 
world. Young men are led to see that there are certain 
crises in their lives when immense and irretrievable conse- 
quences depend upon the action of an hour. This is well 
known ; — the principle is interwoven into all the providential 
arrangements of life. Men do not complain of it ; they see 
practically its fitness. But when they come to look at the 
attitude in which they stand toward God, the idea of proba- 
tion gives way to that of debt and credit, — and they go to 
estimating their sins, — and to calculating the time that they 
have spent in committing them, and they bring on their off- 
sets of good deeds, — and then consider what amount of sufFer- 
ing is necessary to close the account. 

In order to show how momentous are the consequences 
which often depend upon a very brief period of trial, let us 
take a very common case. A boy of twelve years old brought 
up by Christian parents in some quiet village, is sent at last 



152 



THE CORNEPwSTONE. 



The young man. 



Leaving home. 



to the metropolis, into a commercial establishment, where he 
is to commence the duties of active life. As his mother give? 
him her last charge, and with forced smiles, but with a 
bursting heart, bids him good-bye, he thinks he can not yield 
to any temptation which can beset him. For many days, 
and perhaps weeks, he is strong. He is alone, though in a 




crowded city ; his heart, solitary and sad, roams back to his 
native hills, and recalls a thousand incidents of childhood ; 
conscience, foreseeing the struggles that are to come, is busy 
in his heart, retouching every faint and fading moral impres- 
sion which years gone by had made there. He looks upon 
the diseased and abandoned profligates around him with hor- 
ror, and shrinks instinctively back from the very idea of vice. 
Every night he reads a passage in the beautiful Bible which 
was packed by stealth in his trunk, with his father's and 



PUNISHMENT. 153 



Allurements of sin. The crisis. The sore temptation and the struggle. 

mother's names upon the blank page ; and he prays God for 
strength and help to enable him to be faithful in duty, and 
grateful to them. 

In the course of a few weeks the world is somewhat 
changed to him. He does not love his parents and his early 
home the less, perhaps, but he thinks of new scenes and new 
employments a little more. He forms acquaintances and 
hears sentiments and language which he must, in heart, con- 
demn, though he does it more and more faintly at each suc- 
cessive repetition. He engages with his new comrades in 
plans of enjoyment which he feels are questionable. Either 
they are positively wrong, or else his previous notions have 
been too strict ; he can not exactly decide which, and he ac- 
cordingly tries them more and more, occasionally reasoning 
with himself in regard to their character, but coming to no 
absolute decision. He does not think *of home so much as he 
did ; — somehow or other there are melancholy thoughts con 
nected with it, — and he finds it less easy and pleasant to 
write to his parents, He used to have a letter, w T ell filled, 
always ready for any private opportunity which accident 
might furnish ; but now, he writes seldom, though he apol- 
ogizes very freely for his seeming neglect, and expects every 
week to have more time. 

At last, some Saturday afternoon, the proposal comes up 
among his companions, to go off on the morrow on a party 
of pleasure. It is not made directly to him, but it is in his 
hearing, and he knows that he is included in the plan, and 
must decide in favor of, or against it. A party of pleasure, — 
of innocent recreation, they call it. He knows it is a party of 
dissipation and vice, — and formed, too, for that sacred day 
which G-od commands him to keep holy. He says nothing, 
and from the silent and almost indifferent air which he assumes 
while they loudly and eagerly discuss the plan, you would 
suppose that he was an unconcerned spectator. But no; 



154 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Results depending. 



Consequences of a defeat. 




J%.*£& 



THE TEMPTATION. 



look at him more at- 
tentively. Is not his 
cheek a little pale ? 
Is there not a slight 
quiver upon his lip ? — 
and a slight tremor in 
his limbs, as he leans 
upon a chair, as if his 
strength were failing 
him a little? These 
external indications are 
very slight, hut they 
are the indications of a 
sinking of the spirit 
within, as he feels that 
the moral forces are 
taking sides, and mar- 
shaling themselves in array for the struggle w T hich must come 
on. Conscience does not speak ; — but he knows, he feels, 
how she will speak, before this question is decided. Inclina- 
tions which are beginning to grow powerful by indulgence, 
do not yet draw, but he knows how they will draw ; and the 
blood falls back upon his heart, and strength fails from his 
limbs, as he foresees the contest. It seems as if the combat- 
ants were drawing up their forces in gloomy silence, waiting, 
by common consent, till the time shall arrive, and the signal 
be given, for their deadly struggle. 

The armistice continues, with slight interruptions, until he 
leaves his companions, and having closed the business of the 
day, walks toward his home. But there are within him the 
elements of war, and as soon as he retires to his solitary room, 
and the stimulus and excitement of external objects are re- 
moved, the contest is begun. I need not describe it ; I can 
have no reader who does not understand the bitterness of the 



PUNISHMENT. 156 



Probation. - Nature of it. 

struggle which ensues, when duty, and conscience, and the 
command of God, endeavor to maintain their stand against 
the onset of sore temptation. Human beings have occasion 
to know what this is, full well. 

Besides, it is not to the particular circumstances of the con- 
test in such a case that I wish to turn the attention of the 
reader, but to this fact : that very probably, on the event of 
this single struggle, the whole character and happiness of the 
young man for life depend. He may not see it so at the time, 
but it may be so notwithstanding. If duty gains the victory 
here, her next contest will be achieved more easily. There 
is a double advantage gained, for the strength of moral prin- 
ciple is increased, and the pressure of subsequent attacks 
upon it is diminished. The opposing forces which such a 
young man must encounter, in taking the right stand, are far 
more powerful than those which tend to drive him from it, 
when once it is taken. On the other hand, if he yields here, 
he yields probably forever. Conscience stands rebuked and 
silenced ; guilty passions become tumultuous for future grati- 
fication ; impure and unholy thoughts pollute his mind ; and 
though remorse may probably, for a long time to come, at 
intervals more and more distant, and in tones more and more 
faint, utter reproaches and warnings, he will, in all proba- 
bility, go rapidly down the broad road of vice and sin. All 
this is not fancy, but fact. It is the sober history of hundreds 
of young men, who go down every year to ruin, in precisely 
this way. They have their time of trial ; the time when 
they are put to the test ; a crisis, which, in many, many 
cases, is over in a few hours, but whose awful consequences 
extend through a life of misery, and are not stopped, even by 
the grave. 

Perhaps it may be supposed that all the miseries of a life 
of vice ought not to be charged upon the hour when the first 
otep was taken, but should be considered as the consequences 



156 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Sin perpetuates itself. 



Its worst effects. 



Wandering from God. 



of the repeated acts of transgression which the individual 
goes on to commit. We have no objection to this at all, but 
it does not relieve the hour of the first transgression from any 
portion of its responsibility ; for this very disposition to go on 
in sin, is the direct result of the first transgression ; and it is 
the very worst result of it. If the first sin left the heart in a 
right state, the conscience tender, and guilty passions sub- 
dued ; and if nothing was to follow from it but simple suffer- 
ing, even if it were suffering for years, it would be compar- 
atively nothing. The greatest, the most terrible of all the 
evils which result from the first indulgence of sin, is, that it 
leads almost inevitably to a second and a third. The tyrant 
takes advantage of his momentary power to rivet his fetters, 
and to secure his victim in hopeless slavery. So that if a 
young man spends one night in sin, the great evil is not, that 
he must suffer the next day, but that he ivill go on sinning 
the next day. He brings heart, and conscience, and ungodly 
passions into such a relative condition that he will go on. 
There is not half as much to stop him, as there was to pre- 
vent his setting out, so that the first transgression has for its 
consequences, not only its own peculiar miseries, but all the 
succeeding steps in the declivity of sin, together with the 
attendant suffering, which, to the end of time, follow in 
their train. 

All this is true, though not universally, in respect to the 
vices and crimes of human life. I say not universally, for 
the wanderer does, sometimes of his own accord, stop and 
return. But it is true universally, and without exception, 
of the broad way of sin against God, from which the wan- 
derer, if he once enters it, will never, of his own accord, turn 
back. Take the first step here, and all is lost. The incli- 
nation to return never comes. The whole Bible teaches us, 
that sin once admitted, whether it be by a spotless spirit be- 
fore the throne of God, or by a tender infant here, establishes 



PUNISHMENT. 157 



Can the sinner return ? - Will the sinner return ? 

its fixed and perpetual reign. Can not the sinner return ? 
the reader perhaps may ask. Can not the fallen spirit or 
sinning man, give up his warfare and come back to God ? 
Can not Dives, who neglected and disobeyed God when on 
earth, seek his forgiveness and his favor now ? We have 
nothing to do with these questions ; the inquiry for us to 
make is, not whether they can, but whether they icill return. 
The Bible assures us that they will not ; but with mankind 
around us, and our own hearts open to our view, we scarcely 
need its testimony. Sin once admitted, the soul is ruined. 
It lies dead in trespasses and sins ; going farther and farther 
away from God, and sinking continually in guilt and misery. 
It may, indeed, while in this state, be clothed in the appear- 
ances of external virtue, but it will still remain hopelessly 
estranged from God, so deeply corrupted, and so wholly lost, 
that it can be restored to purity and holiness again, only by 
being created anew. Sin thus does more than entail miseiy, 
— it perpetuates itself. The worst of all its consequences, 
is, its own inevitable and eternal continuance. 

The question is very often asked, whether the punishment 
of sin in another world, will consist of suffering directly in- 
flicted, or only of the evils which naturally and inevitably 
flow from sin. The distinction between these two species 
of retribution is very clear in respect to human punishments, 
but it is lost at once, in a great measure, when we come to 
the government of God. It is impossible to draw the line 
between them, because whatever consequences follow from 
sin against God, they are so uniformly and indissolubly con- 
nected with the sin itself that they form a part of its nature. 
In fact, it is not enough to say that sin brings suffering, — it 
is suffering. Misery is, as it were, an essential property of 
it ; but whether rendered so by the decision of Jehovah, or 
by an original and absolute necessity in the very nature of 






158 THE CORNER-STONE. 

God often employs suffering. Arrangements for it in the human frame. 

things, it is perhaps impossible for human powers to deter- 
mine. One thing is certain, however, that Jehovah does not 
shrink from the direct employment of suffering, whenever it 
is necessary to accomplish his purposes. It is a painful sub- 
ject, and one which, probably, a vast majority of readers 
would prefer to have passed by ; but no one can form any 
correct idea of his Maker's character, or know at all what 
he is to expect at his hands, without being fully acquainted 
with it. 

Take, for instance, the human frame. It is made for 
nealth and happiness, and when we look upon a countenance 
blooming with beauty, and observe its expression of quiet 
enjoyment, we feel that the being who formed it is a God of 
love. But we must not forget, that within that very bloom- 
ing cheek, there is contrived an apparatus capable of produ- 
cing something very different from enjoyment. A fibrous 
net- work spreads over it, coming out in one trunk from the 
brain, extending everywhere its slender ramifications, and 
sending a little thread to every point upon the surface. 
What is this mechanism for ? Its uses are many ; but 
among its other properties, there is in it a slumbering power, 
which may indeed never be called into action, but which 
always exists, and is always ready, whenever God shall call 
it forth, to be the instrument of irremediable and unutterable 
suffering. We admit that in almost every case, it remains 
harmless, and inoperative ; still it is there, always there, and 
always ready ; and it is called into action whenever God 
thinks best. And it is not merely in the cheek, but through- 
out every part of the frame that the apparatus of suffering 
lies concealed ; and it is an apparatus which is seldom out 
of order. Sickness deranges and weakens the other powers, 
but it seldom interferes with this ; it remains always at its 
post, in the eye*, the ear, the brain, the hand, — in every 
organ and every limb, and always ready to do God's bidding, 



rUNISHMENT. 159 



Uses of suffering. Jehovah is to be feared. Value Of an efficient government. 

Nor is it useless ; — an idle preparation of instruments, 
never to be employed. It is called into action often, and 
with terrific power. God accomplishes a great many of his 
most important purposes by it. These purposes it is not our 
business now to examine, though there can be scarcely a 
more interesting field of inquiry for us, than the uses of 
suffering, and the extent to which God employs it in the 
accomplishment of his plans. These purposes are all benevo- 
lent, most highly so ; still, suffering, freely employed, is the 
means through which they are produced. All nature thus 
corroborates what the Scriptures assert, that our Maker is 
not only a father to be loved, but a magistrate to be feared. 

The dreadful suffering, which God has in providence in- 
flicted upon communities and individuals for the violations 
of his laws, can not be described, nor can they be conceived 
by those who have not experienced them. We know, how- 
ever, something of their power, and the awful extent to 
which retribution for sin has been poured out upon men. It 
is, indeed, far pleasanter, in examining the character of God, 
and his dealings with us, to dwell upon the proofs of his love, 
than upon those of his anger ; but we must not yield to the 
inclination, so as to go to the Judgment with expectations of 
lenity and forbearance which we shall not find. It is best 
to know the whole, and to be prepared for it ; and not to 
attempt to avoid a coming storm, by denying its approach, 
or shutting our eyes to the evidences of its destructive power 

Still, however, the feelings which a knowledge of God's 
character as a magistrate, will awaken in us, will depend in 
a great degree upon the side which we take in respect to 
obedience to his law. An efficient government is a terror to 
evil-doers, but it has no terrors for those who do well. "We 
all love to be under the dominion of just and righteous laws, 
and if we are disposed to obey them ourselves, we like to 
have them inflexibly administered in respect to others. If, 



160 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Conclusion. 



therefore, to any of our readers the subject of this chapter is 
a gloomy one, we assure them, in conclusion, that they may 
divest it of all its gloom, by giving up sin and returning to 
duty. When we think of the ravages of sin in this world, 
the cruelty, the oppression and indescribable miseries which 
has brought down upon its victims, we feel that we need 
an efficient and a strong protector. We must be more or 
less exposed a little longer here to its baneful influences, but 
the time will come when we shall enjoy full protection and 
perfect safety ; and though we can not but feel sorrowful 
and sad, to reflect that any of our fellow-beings are to be 
shut up at last in an eternal prison, we still can not but re- 
joice that the time will come, when neglect and disobedience 
toward God, and selfish and ungovernable passions toward 
man, will be confined, and separated from all that is pure 
and holy, by a gulf that they can not pass over. We know 
that this little planet, with all its millions, is as nothing 
among the countless worlds which fill the wide-spread re- 
gions all around it. Into those regions we can not but hope 
that sin and misery have not yet extended. There may be, 
we hope that there is, unbroken peace and happiness and 
virtue there. The destructive disease which has raged hero 
for forty centuries, spreading misery and ruin everywhere, 
can be controlled and stopped only by Jehovah's hand. All 
depends upon him ; and the only hope of our ever finding a 
safe and quiet home, where we can once more be protected 
and happy, depends upon the firm and inflexible decision 
with which he manages this case of rebellion. He must not 
pardon, unless he can pardon safely. He must not endanger 
the peace and happiness of his empire, to save the compara- 
tively few who have deliberately rejected his reign. 



PARDON. 161 



Pard on possible. Always desirable when it is safe. 



CHAPTER VI. 

PARDON, OE. CONSEQUENCES SAVED. 

"God hath not appointed us to wrath, but to obtain salvation by our Lord Jesus 
Christ, who died for us, that, whether we wake or sleep, we should live together 
with him." 

Notwithstanding all that was said in the last chapter, in 
respect to the necessity of the most vigorous and energetic 
measures in arresting the consequences of sin, there is such a 
thing as pardon ; — forgiveness, perfectly free, and yet per- 
fectly safe. There are various ways by which the object of 
punishment can be secured, without punishment itself, — 
ti'ough these various modes are perhaps only different appli- 
cations of the same or similar principles. The objects of law 
and penalty are to hold up to the community distinctly the 
nature and the effects of sin, — to make a strong moral im- 
pression against it, and thus to erect a barrier which shall 
prevent its extension. A wise parent or teacher, who feels 
the necessity of being firm and decisive in government, wiL 
find a great many cases occur, in which punishment that is 
really deserved, is still not necessary ; that is, when the ob- 
jects enumerated above can be attained without it. Now 
every wise parent and teacher desires to save suffering where- 
ever it can be saved, and though there is great evil in doing 
this when it can not be done safely, still there are cases 
where it certainly is safe. 

The reader is requested to call to mind here, the story of 
the lost cap, given at the commencement of the third chap 



1G2 THE CORNER-STONE. 

The story of the lost cap. The teacher's motives. 

ter of this work. It was there introduced for another pur- 
pose, but it illustrates well the point which we have here in 
view. The course which the teacher pursued in that case, 
was undoubtedly far better than any plan of punishment 
would have been. Every one will admit this. There can 
not be a question in the mind of any one who understands 
the workings of human nature in such a case, that the course 
there described, was admirably adapted to secure the end in 
view. In order to perceive this, however, it must be dis- 
tinctly understood, what the real object of punishment is, 
namely, to produce a certain influence upon the community 
that witnesses it, and not to gratify any feeling of personal 
resentment against the offender. If the teacher, in that case, 
had been a passionate man, and if his feelings of resentment 
had been aroused at the misconduct of his pupil, he never 
would have devised such a plan to save him. It is difficult, 
in fact, to decide which appears most conspicuous in the 
case, the wish on the part of the teacher to promote the 
^highest welfare of the little community over which he pre- 
sided, or delicate and compassionate interest in the welfare 
of the offender. Any person who is capable of perceiving 
moral beauty at all, will see that, in the plan which .he 
adopted, both these feelings, namely, a firm and steady regard 
for the safety of the community, and a benevolent interest in 
the transgressor, were singularly and beautifully blended. 

The plan was in substance this : he substituted his own 
inconvenience and suffering for the punishment of his pupil, 
so as to rely upon the former for the production of that moral 
effect which would naturally have resulted from the latter ; 
and we observe three things in the character of the transac 
tion, which are of importance to be mentioned here. First, 
the plan originated in love for the offender, and a wish to 
save him suffering. Secondly, it was exactly adapted to 
touch his feelings, and produce a real change in his heart, 



PARDON. 163 



Cases common. Not precisely analogous to the plan of salvation. 

which punishment probably would not have effected. 
Thirdly, it secured the great object, the right moral impres- 
sion upon the little community which witnessed it. far more 
perfectly and more pleasantly than any other mode could 
have done. The whole plan is an instance of what may be 
called moral substitution, — putting the voluntary suffering 
of the innocent, in the place of the punishment of the guilty. 
This principle, substantially, though seldom or never brought 
to view by writers on rewards and punishments, is very often 
applied in practice. They who resort to it, perceive, in the 
individual cases, by a kind of instinctive feeling, its powerful 
and healthful effect, though they may not perhaps philoso- 
phize on its nature. The story of the lost cap, is a specimen 
of many cases, where this or a similar principle is acted upon 
by intelligent parents or teachers. Each particular case, 
however, is different from the others, and presents the prin- 
ciple in a different aspect. I will therefore add one or two 
others, describing them as they actually occurred. Before 
proceeding, however, I ought distinctly to say, that no human 
transactions can be entirely analogous to the great plan of 
redeeming man from sin and misery by the sufferings and 
death of Jesus Christ. They may partly illustrate it, how- 
ever, some conforming to it in one respect, and some in an- 
other. The reader will therefore understand that I offer 
these cases as analogous to the arrangement made for saving 
men through the atoning sufferings of Jesus Christ, only in 
the general principle which they involve, namely, that of 
moral substitution, — accomplishing, by means of the suffer- 
ing of the innocent, what is ordinarily secured by the punish- 
ment of the guilty. I will first mention a very trivial case. 
I give this rather than more important and extraordinary 
ones, because it is more likely to recall to the minds of 
parents similar instances which may have occurred in theii 
own government. 



164 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



The broken stucco. 



In a certain school, it was the custom for the pupils to 
play during the recesses, in the school-room, with soft balls, 
stuffed lightly with cotton, and which could consequently he 
thrown without danger. The use of hard halls, which were 
sometimes brought to the school, were strictly forbidden. 
One morning, as the teacher entered the room, and was just 
taking his seat at his desk, a girl approached him, with a 
very sad and sorrowful look, and followed by several of her 
companions. She had in her hands some fragments of 
stucco. 




THE FALLEN STUCCO. 



" Sir/' said she sorrowfully, holding up the broken pieces. 
c< see what I have done." 

"What is it," said the teacher. 

She pointed up to the ceiling, where was an ornamented 
center-piece, wrought in stucco, and said she had broken it off 
from that, with her hard ball. 



PARDON. 165 



Suffering of the innocent for the guilty. 'Effects of the substitution. 

It was very evident from the countenance of the offender, 
and from the general expression of concern which was visible 
in the many faces which were turned toward the group at 
the teacher's desk, that she herself, and all the rest of ihe 
pupils, felt deeply the fact, that the consequences of this 
breach of law must come upon the teacher, as the one 
intrusted with the apartment, and responsible for it.- They 
were attached to their teacher, and would rather have suffer- 
ed themselves than have brought inconvenience and trouble 
to him ; and he perceived by a glance of the eye, that by 
this means a moral impression was made far more effectual 
and valuable than any punishment would have produced. 
In a word, he saw that, through his suffering, the offender 
might safely go free. If no injury had been done, he would 
have felt bound to notice very seriously any violation of the 
law ; but since the injury came upon him, and since the little 
community was in such a state that it would feel this deeply, 
the very best, the very wisest thing that he could do. was to pass 
over the offense entirely. A rough, passionate, and unthink- 
ing man, might, perhaps, in such a case, have rebuked, with 
greater sternness, and punished with greater severity, just in 
proportion to the inconvenience and trouble which the offense 
brought upon him ; but he who knows human nature, and 
studies the adaptation of moral means for the accomplishment 
of moral ends, will see in a moment, that in such a case the 
mildest punishment, and even the gentlest reproof, would 
weaken the impression, and that the way to make the most 
of such an occurrence, would be to dismiss the sorrowful 
pupil with kind words in respect to the injury, and without 
a syllable about her sin. This, too, is moral substitution; 
receiving, through the sufferings of the innocent, the advan- 
tages usually sought from the punishment of the guilty. 

It is difficult to lay down general principles in regard to 
the applications of this principle in the moral education of 



166 THE CORNER-STONE. 



The principle often applied. Another case. The students and the joiners. 

the young, because so much depends upon the state of feeling 
of the parties concerned, at the time. For example, in the 
case last described, had the offender been not penitent and not 
concerned, and had a feeling of cold indifference prevailed in 
the school-room, in regard to the injury which had been done, 
the course taken would have been most evidently unwise, and 
unsafe. It is a question of moral impression on hearts, — an 
impression in favor of law, and against the breach of it, — 
and it is only where this impression can be produced better 
without the punishment than with it, that there can be any 
safe remission. It is however unquestionably true, and all 
parents and teachers ought to keep it in mind, that where 
any wrong act performed by the young results in any damage 
or injury, or other evil consequences, these consequences, in a 
wise and dexterous government, will lighten, not increase the 
severity of reproof and punishment. They go far toward 
producing the very impression which reproof and punishment 
are intended to effect, and consequently, they diminish the 
necessity of it. Those parents and teachers who take little 
notice of offenses when they are harmless, and punish them 
with severity when followed by accidental injury, ought to 
perceive that they are not administering moral government, 
but only gratifying their own feelings of resentment and 
revenge. 

In the case which we have just described, the injurious 
consequences were not voluntarily assumed by the innocent 
individual in order to allow the guilty one to be forgiven. 
They came upon him without any consent of his. The 
following case is different in this respect. The persons 
who suffered the injury here voluntarily assumed it. The 
case, like the former, is described exactly as it occurred. 

At one of the New England colleges, not many years ago, 
a company of joiners were employed in erecting a building. 
A temporary shed had been put up in the college yard, where 



TARDON. 167 



Mischief. The proposed substitution. 

the work went on, and where, at night, the tools were left, 
protected only by the honesty of the neighborhood. From 
some cause or other, a feud arose between some of the work- 
men and a portion of the students, and the next day, when 
the latter came to their work, they found their tools scattered 
about in disorder, and in a very bad condition. Planes were 
gapped and notched, saws dulled, chisel-handles split, and 
augers had been bored into the ground. The indignation 
which this wanton injury excited on the part of the workmen, 
threatened very serious consequences. Some measure of re- 
taliation was expected from the mechanics, which of course 
would be repaid again by the students, and thus it was 
feared that a deadly and permanent hostility would be pro- 
duced. It was of course impossible to ascertain the authors 
of the mischief, and if they had been ascertained, punish- 
ment would probably only have made them more secret in 
their future plans. A species of moral substitution removed 
the difficulty entirely. The plan was this. 

After evening prayers, when the students were all assem- 
bled, one of the officers stated the case to them, — described 
the injury, — presented an estimate of its amount, and pro- 
posed to them that they should raise by voluntary contribu- 
tion, a sum sufTicient to remunerate the injured workmen. 
" There is no just claim upon you for this," said he ; "none 
whatever. The mischief was indeed undoubtedly done by 
some of you, but it was certainly by a very small number, 
and the rest are not in any degree responsible for it. Still, 
by leaving their tools so completely exposed, the workmen 
expressed their entire confidence in you. This confidence 
must now be shaken ; but if you take the course I propose, 
and voluntarily bear the injury yourselves, you will say, 
openly and publicly, that you disavow all participation in the 
offense, and all approval of it ; and you will probably prevent 
its repetition, and confidence in you will be restored. Still. 



168 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Its effects. Moral impression. Peculiarities of the case. 

however, there is no obligation whatever resting upon you, to 
do what I propose. I make only a suggestion, and you will 
consider and decide upon it as you please." 

The students were then left to themselves, and after a few 
minutes' debate, occasioned by a slight opposition from a few 
individuals, the vote was carried almost unanimously, to re- 
pair the injury. The money was contributed and paid. The 
innocent suffered, and the guilty went free, and the moral 
effect of the transaction was most happy. The whole quarrel 
was arrested at once. The tools were repaired ; and thence- 
forward they were exposed in perfect safety, though as un- 
protected as before. 

It ought to be stated that the sum necessary for repairing 
the damage in this case was a very trifling one, and it was 
not at all the amount of it that determined the moral effect 
of the transaction. Any officer of the college would have 
readily paid double the sum himself to have ended the 
difficulty. The effect was not produced by the reparation, 
but by the guilty individuals' seeing that their innocent 
companions would assume the consequences of their guilt. 
It was not a measure of ways and means, but of moral 
impression. 

This case seems different from the preceding, in two im- 
portant particulars. The first is, that the loss was borne, 
neither by the offenders, nor by the magistracy, but by a 
third party, not directly concerned in the transaction. The 
second point is, there was in this case no evidence that the 
offenders w r ere penitent. In fact, the plan had no reference 
to the offenders at all. Its whole aim was moral impression 
upon the community. The offenders themselves succeeded 
in escaping in this instance, not through any plan formed for 
the purpose of saving them, but through the imperfection of 
the government, which had no means of detecting them. 
They were not forgiven ; they simply escaped. Generally, 



PARDON. 169 

The offenders not penitent. Favors received for Christ's sake. Illustration. 

in such cases, the plan devised aims at the accomplishment 
of two objects ; to save the offender, if he is penitent, and to 
produce the right moral effect upon the community. Here, 
however, the former was no part of the design ; it was the 
latter exclusively. Had the individuals who actually per- 
petrated the wrong been discovered, and had they been found 
still unchanged in heart, justice would not have been satis- 
fied, to use Dr. Johnson's language, without their punish- 
ment. Still the other great design, — a strong moral impres- 
sion upon the community, to arrest the progress of sin, and to 
create a universal feeling against it, was well secured 
through the voluntary consent of the innocent to suffer the 
consequences which ought justly to be borne by the guilty. 

All these are cases in which a person is relieved, through 
the instrumentality of others, from sufferings which he de- 
serves ; and it is equally in accordance with universally ad- 
mitted principles of human nature, that a person should in 
the same manner through the instrumentality of others some- 
times be admitted to enjoyments which he himself does not 
deserve. We are represented as not only being forgiven 
through Jesus Christ, but as receiving every blessing and 
favor for his sake. This seems to be a moral substitution of 
a little different character, but it is exemplified with even 
greater frequency in human life, than the other. There calls 
at your door, late at night, a wandering stranger, and asks 
admittance. He seems destitute and wretched, and as it is 
not convenient, and perhaps not even safe, to admit him into 
your family, you very properly direct him to a public house 
at a little distance, and supply him with the means of pro- 
curing a reception there. Just as he is leaving you, you im- 
agine you recognize something familiar in his features, and 
on inquiring his name, you find he is the son of one of your 
dearest and earliest friends. How promptly do you change 
your plan, and bid him w r elcome, and endeavor to repay by 

H 



170 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Moral governments. 



your hospitality to the son, the favors which you received in 
days long past from the father. And yet it is in fact no re- 
payment to the father. It may be that he has been long in 
the grave. It is a substitution ; and there is an universal, 
and almost instinctive feeling in the human heart, leading us, 
under certain circumstances, to make such substitutions, — to 
show favor to one, on account of obligation to another. The 
apostle Paul understood this principle, when he sent back 
Onesimus to his master, and endeavored to secure for him a 
kind reception by saying, " If thou count me a partner, receive 
him as myself." 

The reader will perceive that it has not been our object, 
in the preceding illustrations, to find a parallel among human 
transactions for the great plan adopted in the government of 
God, to render safe the forgiveness of human sins. Such a 
parallel, precisely, can not be found. All that we have been 
attempting to show is, that the principles upon which the 
plan is based have a deep-seated foundation in the very con- 
stitution of the human mind, and that they are constantly 
showing themselves, more or less perfectly, whenever a real 
moral government is intelligently administered here. We must 
look, however, for such exemplifications of these principles, 
generally in the government of the young ; for in no other 
case in this world is a government properly a moral one. 
The administration of law in a political community, is a dif- 
ferent thing altogether. It is simply the enforcement of a 
system of rules of action, designed almost exclusively for the 
prevention of injury. In a moral government, strictly so 
called, one mind superior to the others, presides over a com- 
munity of minds, and acts upon them in his administration, 
with reference to their moral welfare. He looks beyond mere 
external action, — adapts his measures to moral wants and 
moral feelings, — and aims at an influence over hearts. A 



TAR DON. 171 



Political governments. Differences. 

political government, though often confounded with this, isr 
distinct in its nature, and aims at different objects. It at- 
tempts only the protection of the community against injury. 
Its province is to regulate external actions, not to purify and 
elevate the feelings of the heart ; and it does this by endeav- 
oring to enforce certain prescribed rules, relating almost ex- 
clusively to overt acts, and designed merely to prevent injury. 
This difference in the nature and design of a political gov- 
ernment, and of a moral government, strictly so called, is 
fundamental, audit applies with peculiar force to the subjects 
which we are considering. In fact there is, properly speak- 
ing, no such thing as forgiveness in human jurisprudence. 
Legal provision is indeed made for what is called pardon ; but 
this is, in theory, a mode of arresting punishment where 
evidence not brought forward at the trial comes to light after- 
ward, or where peculiar circumstances which the strict 
principles of law could not recognize render it equitable to 
remit the sentence. In practice, it goes indeed sometimes 
farther than this. In some cases the executive, overcome 
with compassion for the criminal, liberates him at the risk 
of sacrificing the public good. In other cases, by a common 
though tacit understanding, pardons are granted so uniformly 
in certain cases, as to amount to a permanent modification of 
the law. But such a remission of legal penalties as this, is in 
its nature entirely different from forgiveness. It is, in fact, only 
the exercise of a discretionary power, lodged in suitable hands, 
to modify the inflexible decisions of law, when equity, in 
peculiar circumstances, demands their modification, — it is not 
real forgiveness. Real forgiveness in political government 
has no place. We must look, therefore, among the young, 
where alone we find that any thing like moral training is 
the object of government, for illustrations of the principles of 
God's administration. We shall find them however here. 
A. wise parent or teacher, who acts intelligently, and watches 



172 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Two motives for punishment. 



the operation of moral causes and effects upon the hearts un- 
der his care, will often, though perhaps insensibly, adopt these 
principles, and will imitate, almost without knowing it, tho 
plans of the great Father of all. We certainly shall find 
abundant examples of the operation of the great principles 
which we have been endeavoring to bring to view : namely, 
that the object of punishment is not to gratify resentment 
against an individual, but to promote the welfare of the com 
munity ; that it can not safely be remitted, unless there is 
something to take its place, and to do its work, in produ- 
cing moral impression ; and that this end can not generally 
be attained without the suffering of some one who is inno- 
cent, in the place of the guilty. 

We have dwelt upon this subject perhaps long enough al- 
ready, but it is so essential to the peace and happiness of the 
young Christian, clearly to understand it, that we will pre- 
sent it in one other point of view. Let us suppose that a fa- 
ther, when sitting with his children around his evening fire, 
accidentally learns that one of them has played truant dur- 
ing the day. He has been guilty of the same offense once 
or twice before, and the measures which were adopted then 
have proved to be ineffectual. Now there are plainly two 
distinct feelings which may lead the father to inflict punish- 
ment upon the guilty one. I mean here by punishment, any 
means whatever of giving him pain, either by severe reproof 
or deprivation of enjoyment, or direct suffering. First, the 
father may be a passionate man, and he may feel personal 
resentment against the boy, and punish him under the influ- 
ence of those feelings ; a case exceedingly common. Secondly, 
without feeling any resentment, but rather looking with ten- 
der compassion upon his son, he may see the necessity of do- 
ing something effectual to arrest this incipient sin, and to pre- 
vent its extending to his other children. If now the former 
is the father's feeling, — an emotion of resentment and pas- 



PARDON. 173 



Their operation in this case. - Substitute for punishment. 

sion, on account of the trouble which the fault has caused, 
and is likely to cause him, there is no hope for the poor 
offender ; — resentment can only be gratified by the suffering 
of the object of it. If, on the other hand, the feeling is only 
a calm, though perhaps anxious regard for the moral safety 
and happiness of his family, there is some hope ; for punish- 
ment in this case, would only be resorted to on account -of its 
promoting this safety and happiness, by the moral impression 
which it would make, and there may perhaps be some other 
way of accomplishing this object. But let us look at this 
more particularly. 

The reason wdry truancy is so serious an evil, is not the 
loss of a day or two at school, now and then. — or any other 
immediate and direct consequence of it. It is because it is the 
beginning of a long course of sin ; it leads to bad company, 
and to deception, and to vicious habits ; it stops the progress 
of preparation for the duties of life, and hardens the heart, 
and opens the door for every temptation and sin, which, if 
not closed, must bring the poor victim to ruin. These are 
w T hat constitute its dangers. Now the difficulty with the 
truant boy, whose case we are considering, is that he does 
not see these things. He is spiritually blind ; and argument 
and persuasion will not open his eyes. Punishment is there- 
fore necessary to make such an impression upon his mind and 
that of the others, as to arrest the progress of the sin. It 
may be confinement. It may be some disgrace or depriva- 
tion, or suffering in any other form. If it is however judi- 
ciously administered, and in a proper spirit, it must have an 
effect, and it may remove the evil altogether. 

But there may be some other way of accomplishing the 
object, — that is, of producing the needed impression. Let us 
suppose such a way. Let us imagine that after learning that 
his son had been guilty of the offense, the father gives no in- 
dications of resentment, or of any other personal feeling, but 



174 THE CORNEPc-STONE. 

The father's plan. Visit to the poorhouse. The scene. 

begins to think what he can do to arrest the evil, without 
bringing suffering upon his boy. At last he says to the chil- 
dren, who have been standing by, we will suppose, while he 
was hesitating, awaiting his decision, " My boys, I wish very 
much that you all should understand what the real nature 
of truancy is, and what its consequences are. I shall, how- 
ever, say no more about it now, but to-morrow I shall wish 
you to go and take a walk with me." 

The boys look forward with eager interest to the appointed 
time, and when it arrives the father takes them to a neighbor- 
ing poorhouse, where lies a man sick, and suffering excru- 
ciating pains under the power of diseases brought on by vice. 
We may suppose the father to have been accidentally ac- 
quainted with the case. The boys enter the large and dreary 
apartment, crowded with beds, and tenanted by misery in 
every form ; for there is an apartment in every extensive 
poorhouse, where you may see the very extreme of human 
woe, — the last earthly stage of the broad road, — where life 
lingers in forms of most excessive misery, as if to show how 
much the mysterious principle can endure. On one narrow 
couch, foaming mania glares at you, — on another lies sight- 
less, senseless, torpid old age, a picture of indescribable de- 
crepitude and deformity ; — from a third, you hear the groans 
and see the restless tossing of acute suffering, — and gibbering 
idiocy laughs upon a fourth, with a noise which grates more 
harshly upon the feelings than the deepest groans. 

Into such a scene the father enters, followed by his sons, 
pale and trembling, for it is a scene which they have 
scarcely nerve to endure. The attendant, knowing whom 
they wish to see, precedes them, guiding them to a bed in 
the corner, where lies the only patient in the room who 
has mind enough left to be conscious who, and what, and 
where he is. He has covered his head in the vain effort to 
hide from the horrors of his last earthly home. The attendant 



PARDON. 



17^ 



The abandoned. 



Consequences of truancy 






raises the corner of the 
blanket which conceals 
him. and the visitors 
see there a haggard 
face, with its two 
glazed and motionless 
eyes rolled up toward 
them, and staring wild- 
ly from their sunken 
sockets. 

The visitor has 
brought the wretched 
patient some little com- 
fort or luxury, which 
may amuse and gratify 
him a moment, though 
it can not really relieve 
him. He then falls into conversation with him, and the. 




THE HOSPITAL. 



boys who stand by, learn something of the progress and the 
termination of a life of vice and crime. The father leads 
the wretched man back in memory to his early childhood, 
and learns from the sufferer's own lips that truancy and the 
bad company which it led him into, were the first steps of 
his wretched course. 

Now there is nothing unnatural in all this. Precisely such 
an experiment may never have been made, but plans for 
producing moral impressions exactly analogous to it have 
been successfully adopted a thousand times ; and every reader 
will see that if such a plan were adopted, and if the hearts 
of the boys were in such a state as deeply to feel it, it would, 
in this case, have rendered all farther proceedings unneces- 
sary. If the heart of the guilty boy was really touched by 
the scene, so that he should go home penitent and humbled, 
and resolved to sin no more, it would be perfectly safe to for- 



176 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Moral impression made by the death of Christ. 

give him. And the point to be kept most distinctly in view 
in the case, — the point which it is, in fact, the whole design 
of the case to illustrate, is that free forgiveness, which would 
be dangerous alone, may be rendered safe by means of meas- 
ures ingeniously and judiciously adopted, which shall produce 
the same moral impression upon the community which pun- 
ishment w r ould have made ; and that any moral governor 
who is actuated by a calm regard for the general good, and 
not by personal resentment, will devise such measures if he 
can. It is the great glory of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, that 
it thus provides a way for the safe forgiveness of sin. We 
are taken to the cross, and we see the nature and effects of 
sin there ; and the great sacrifice which was made on Cal- 
vary, goes instead of the just punishment of men, to make 
that great moral impression which is necessary to sustain law, 
and satisfy justice, and arrest the consequences of sin. 

The imaginary case which we have been describing, is 
evidently very different in many respects from the plan of 
salvation by the sacrifice of the Son of God. It would have 
resembled it more closely if, instead of one offender, we had 
supposed two, one of whom should be affected and led to 
penitence by the scene that he witnessed, w T hile the other 
remained hard-hearted and stubborn. The father would 
then have felt compelled, while he forgave the one, to adopt 
some farther measures in respect to the other. The resem- 
blance would have been closer still, if instead of there being 
exhibited to the boys some existing misery, an innocent 
brother could, in some mysterious way, himself have volun- 
tarily assumed for a time the sufferings naturally consequent 
upon the sin to be condemned. These changes, however, 
would not essentially alter the nature of the case, nor touch 
the great principle which it is intended to bring to view, 
namely, that to render it safe to forgive sin, some plan must 



PARDON. 177 



Extent and power of it undeniable. Its present influence. 

be devised for producing by other means the moral effects for 
which punishment is intended. 

"We have, in former chapters, taken a view of two great 
objects for which the Son of God appeared here, namely, to 
set us an example of moral action, and to teach us, by pre- 
cept, our duty. We have considered the nature of the ex- 
ample, and also that of the system of duty, which he held up 
to men. We now come, however, to look at another great 
design which was accomplished by his coming,. — one far 
greater, probably, than either of those already alluded to, — 
namely, to make by his perfect obedience to the law of God 
during his life, and by the sufferings which he endured at 
the close of it, such an exhibition of the nature and of the 
effects of sin, and such an expiation for it, as should render it 
safe for those who are penitent to be forgiven. He came, in 
other words, not only to teach us duty, and to set an example 
of its performance, but to suffer for us. and to make, by that 
suffering, an atonement for sin. His death was to make a 
moral impression upon the great community of intelligent 
minds, which should accomplish the end which would have 
otherwise been produced by the punishment of the guilty, 
and thus open the way for pardon. 

And it has made this impression. It is now eighteen cen- 
turies since that death occurred, and among all the varieties 
of opinion which have been adopted in regard to it. by 
Atheist, Deist, and Christian, in one point all must agree, 
that the death of Jesus Christ has made a stronger impres- 
sion upon the human race, than any other transaction since 
the creation of the world. In the remote and subjugated 
province where it occurred, it was witnessed only by a few 
thousands, and they looked upon it with little more interest 
than would have been excited by the execution of any other 
object of popular fury ; they perhaps supposed too, that in a 
few months it would be forgotten. But no. In a very few 



178 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Its present influence. Its prospective influence. Necessity of atonement. 

weeks, it was the means of arresting the attention, and sub« 
duing the hearts, and altering the characters and lives of 
thousands. The tidings of the transaction, and the explana- 
tion of it, spread like a flame. The walls of the city could 
not confine it ; the boundaries of the province could not con- 
fine it. The influence of wealth, and the coercion of mili- 
tary power, were equally insufficient to stop its progress, or 
to prevent its effects. It shook the Roman empire to its 
foundations, — and now, eighteen centuries from the time of 
its occurrence, it holds ascendency over more hearts than it 
ever did before, and it is an ascendency which is widening, 
deepening and strengthening, and promises to spread to every 
nation, and to every family on the globe. 

This impression, too, is of the right kind. A knowledge 
of the death of Christ, w T ith the explanation of it given in 
the Scriptures, touches men's hearts ; it shows the nature 
and the tendencies of sin ; it produces fear of God's displeas- 
ure, and resolution to return to duty; and thus it produces 
effects by which justice is satisfied, and the authority of law 
sustained, far better, in fact, than it would be by the severest 
punishment of the guilty sinner. 

There has always been in human hearts, a feeling of the 
necessity of some provision to render safe the forgiveness of 
sin. Penitence has never been enough to quiet conscience. 
Hence the customs of resorting to self-inflicted sufferings, and 
to sacrifices for sin which have prevailed in every age. The 
institution of sacrifices was indeed established by divine 
authority, being intended apparently to typify the great real 
sacrifice which was to be offered at last. But though estab- 
lished by divine command, it could not have spread so far, 
and have been so constantly and universally observed by 
men, if there had not been some strong and deeply-seated 
feelings in the human heart with which it accorded. 



PARDON. 179 



Sacrifices. Reparation required. 

Though, as the Apostle informs us, the blood of bulls and 
of goats could not take away sin, that is, it was not sufficient 
to render punishment unnecessary, still the institution of 
sacrifices, as regulated by God's commands to Moses, was 
admirably adapted to the moral condition and wants of men. 
One of the most brief and lucid descriptions of it is contained 
in the following passage. 

" And the Lord spake unto Moses, saying, If a soul sin, 
and commit a trespass against the Lord, and lie unto his 
neighbor in that which was delivered him to keep, or in 
fellowship, or in a thing taken away by violence, or hath 
deceived his neighbor ; or have found that which was lost 
and lieth concerning it, and sweareth falsely ; in any of all 
these that a man doeth, sinning therein : 

" Then it shall be, because he hath sinned and is guilty, 
that he shall restore that which he took violently away, or 
the thing which he hath deceitfully gotten or that which 
was delivered to him to keep, or the lost thing which he 
found, or all that about which he hath sworn falsely : he 
shall even restore it in the principal, and shall add the fifth 
part more thereto, and give it unto him to whom it apper- 
taineth, in the day of his trespass offering. 

" And he shall bring his trespass offering unto the Lord, a 
ram without blemish out of the flock, with thy estimation, 
for a trespass offering unto the priest : and the priest shall 
make an atonement for him before the Lord ; and it shall be 
forgiven him, for any thing of all that he hath done in tres- 
passing therein." Leviticus vi. 1-7. 

The first thing that attracts our notice in this provision is, 
that reparation, — full reparation for all the injury must be 
made, as the first step toward a reconciliation with God. 
Another interesting thought is, that the animal required to 



180 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Sincere repentance. Principles of moral government. 

be brought for the sacrifice, was one which in ordinary cases 
would probably be an object of affection to the offender ; for in 
pastoral life men almost love their flocks and herds, and the 
owner of the innocent victim, one would suppose, could not 
see its blood flowing for his sins, without being moved. Still, 
however, it wag not chiefly on this account, that is, on ac- 
count of the direct moral effect of the transaction upon him, 
that the sinner was required to bring his .offering, but it was 
to remind him habitually, that something was necessary to 
open the way for his forgiveness, besides mere repentance and 
reparation ; and thus to bring him to the right state of heart 
to be saved by means of the real propitiation which was at 
length to be made. The manner in which David speaks of 
this subject, shows that it was generally understood that this 
duty was not intended to be an empty form. " Thou desirest 
not sacrifice, else would I give it ; thou delightest not in 
burnt offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit : a 
broken and a contrite heart, God, thou wilt not despise." 
Psalm li. 16, 17. 

We have now accomplished the plan which we had 
marked out for this chapter, which was to exhibit some of 
the principles upon which the pardon of sin can safely be 
bestowed. These principles are in substance as follows. 
The design of God in connecting such severe and lasting 
sufferings with sin, is not resentment against the sinner, but 
a calm and benevolent interest in the general good. He 
wishes no one to suffer, and has accordingly formed a plan 
by which he can accomplish more perfectly, in another way, 
what would naturally have been accomplished by the inflex- 
ible execution of the law. By this means, the way is open 
for our forgiveness if we are penitent for our sins. The cir- 
cumstances of this sacrifice will be considered more fully in 
a subsequent chapter ; the design of this has been only to 



PARDON. 181 

Application of the subject. Address to the inquirer. Source of anxiety. 

explain some of the acknowledged principles on which the 
necessity of it is grounded. This ohject is now accomplish- 
ed ; but before closing the chapter, we wish to devote a few 
pages to turning this subject to a practical account. 

There are a great many persons to whose wounded spirits 
the truths advanced here would be a balm, if they would but 
apply them. Many a thoughtful reader of such a work as 
this is often the prey of mental anxiety and suffering, which 
the subject of this chapter is exactly calculated to relieve. 
You feel that you are a great sinner, and though this feeling 
produces no powerful and overwhelming conviction, it still 
destroys your peace, and fills you with uneasiness, which, 
though it may be sometimes interrupted, returns again with 
increased power at ever}'' hour of reflection, and especially 
when you are in solitude. You wish that you were a Chris- 
tian, you say. I will suppose that you really do. Many 
persons who say that, really mean only that they wish for 
the benefits of piety, not for piety itself. They would like 
the rewards which the Savior has to bestow, but they do not 
like his service. I will suppose, however, that you really 
wish to be his. It is possible that you do, and yet you may 
not have found peace ; you think that there is some love for 
the Savior in your heart, some interest in his cause, some 
desire to serve him, and yet you do not feel relieved from the 
burden of sin, and are not cheered with the spiritual peace 
and joy which beam in the hearts of others. Now the 
cause of your restless unhappiness is a burdened conscience ; 
— a burdened conscience. There is a sort of instinctive 
feeling, or if not instinctive, it is interwoven with all the 
inmost sentiments of the soul, — that guilt deserves punish- 
ment. You feel that you are guilty. You know that God 
is an efficient governor, — a God of terrible majesty; for 
whatever men may say, there is something in the heart, 



182 THE C0E,NER-ST0NE. 



Remedy. Anxiety needless. Redemption fully purchased. 

which testifies that it is an evil and bitter thing to sin 
against God, and that the soul which gives itself up to sin, 
must expect to feel the weight of divine displeasure. You 
know this, and you feel it, and though you ask forgiveness, 
you do not realize that it can safely be bestowed. Now the 
emedy is simple, and effectual. It is for you to gome in 

FAITH TO THE CROSS OF JESUS CHRIST. 

Let me explain precisely what I mean by this. Your 
conscience is uneasy, being burdened by the load of your past 
sins. Perhapr you do not distinctly fear punishment, but it 
is the sense of responsibility for sin, and an undefined dread 
of something that is yet to come, which really destroys your 
rest. Now why have you any thing to fear ? Why should 
God ever call you to account for those sins ? It must be 
either from personal resentment against you, or else because 
the welfare of his government requires the execution of his 
law upon you. There can not be any thing like the former, 
you know. It must be the latter, if either. Now the balm 
for your wounded spirit is this, that the moral impression in 
respect to the nature and tendencies of sin, which is the only 
possible reason that God can have for leaving you to suffer 
its penalties, is accomplished far better by the life and death 
of his Son ; and if you are ready to abandon sin for the future, 
there is no reason whatever remaining why you should be 
punished for the past. God never could have wished to 
punish you for the sake of doing evil, and all the good which 
he could have accomplished by it is already effected in another 
and a better way. Now believe this cordially. Give it full 
control in your heart. Come to God and ask for forgiveness 
on this ground. Trust to it fully. If you do, you will feel 
that the account for the past is closed and settled forever. 
You are free from all responsibility in regard to it. Ran- 
somed by your Redeemer, the chains of doubt and fear and 
sin fall off, and you stand, free, and safe, and happy, a new 



PARDON. 183 

Fuith necessary. Difference between faith and belief. The electric machine. 

creature, in Jesus Christ, — redeemed by his precious blood, 
and henceforth safe under his mighty protection. 

This change, bringing to a close the old responsibilities for 
sin, and commencing as it were a new life in the Savior, that 
is, by an intimate union of spirit with him, is very clearly 
described in many passages of scripture like the following ; 
which, however, you have perhaps often read without under- 
standing it. " I am crucified with Christ ; nevertheless I 
live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me, and the life I now 
live in the flesh, I live by faith of the Son of God, who loved 
me, and gave himself for me." To receive these benefits, you 
must have faith. " I live by faith of the Son of God." 
Faith means confidence ; not merely cold, intellectual con- 
viction, but confidence, — a feeling of the heart. To show 
this distinction clearly, imagine a man unaccustomed to suet 
an elevation, to be taken to the summit of some lofty spire 
and asked to step out from an opening there, upon a narrow 
board, suspended by ropes over the dizzy height. How will 
he shrink back instinctively from it. Explain <to him the 
strength of the ropes, show him their size, and convince him 
by the most irresistible evidence that #iey have abundant 
strength to support many times his weight. Can you make 
him willing to trust himself to them ? No. But the builder, 
whose confidence in the suspended scaffolding has been 
established by experience, stands upon it without fear, and 
looks down to the stony pavement, a hundred feet below, 
with an unmoved and steady eye. Now you must have 
such faith in Christ's sufferings and death, as not merely to 
admit their efficacy, but to trust yourself to it. 

A father was once amusing a number of children with an 
electric machine, and after one or two of them had touched 
the knob and received the shock, they drew back from the 
apparatus, and looked upon it with evident dread. The 
father presently held out to them the jar, uncharged, and 



184 



THE COHNER-STONE. 



The children and the electric machine. 



Christian faith. 



consequently harmless, and said distinctly, but without em- 
phasis, " If you touch it now, you will feel nothing. Who 
willtry?" 

The children drew back with their hands behind them. 
" You do not believe me," said he. 

" Yes. sir," said they, with one voice ; and several hands 
were held out to prove their faith ; but they were quickly 
withdrawn before reaching the dangerous knob. One alone, 
a timid little girl, had that kind of confidence in her father 
which led her really to trust to him. The rest believed 

his word, but had not 
heart-felt faith in it. 
Even the little be- 
liever's faith was not 
unwavering. You could 
see upon her face, when 
the little knuckle ap- 
proached the harmless 
brass ba.ll, a slight 
expression of anxiety, 
showing that she had 
some doubts and fears 
after all ; and there 
was an evident feel- 
ing of relief when she 
touched the knob, and 

FAITH. 

found, from actual trial, 
that her father's word was true, and that there was really 
nothing there. 

This last is Christian faith exactly. It not only believe? 
what the Savior says, but it acts in reliance upon it. It 
tricsts to Christ, and throws itself upon him, and tries to hush 
its remaining fears, and to feel fully the confidence which if 
knows is deserved. Still there will be too often a slight mis 




TARDON. 18 J 

Doubts and fears. The way to find peace. . Justified by the law. 

giving, — a hesitating fear, alternating and mingling with the 
confidence and love, — and expressing itself in the prayer, 
"Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief." There ought 
not to be, however, the slightest misgiving. It is sinful and 
unreasonable, even when it exists in the smallest possible 
degree. 

Come at once then to the cross of Christ with, faith in it. 
Heal heart-felt confidence in its efficacy in taking away all 
the necessity for punishment, if you are only ready now to 
abandon sin. If you do this, you may be sure that peace and 
happiness will return. 

This will give you peace, but nothing else will. So deeply 
in the human heart has God laid the feeling that sin must 
bring suffering in its train, and that you can not get free from 
the burden of responsibility for the past but in this way. 
You may forget it for a time ; you may drown it by the 
excitements of business, or of pleasure ; but the poison will 
remain, rankling more and more, and the more clearly you 
see your sins, and the more deep your repentance, the more 
distinctly will you feel that repentance alone can never 
authorize their remission. We can not be justified by any 
deeds of the law ; that is, we can not be pardoned, — con- 
sidered just, — by any thing that we can now do in obedience 
to the law. We must be justified by faith ; that is, if we are to 
enjoy real peace with God, it must be through Jesus Christ our 
Lord who gave himself for us, that we might be reconciled 
to God through the propitiation which he has made for 
our sins. 

When a person first commences his career as a moral 
agent, he then indeed has the alternative before him of obedi- 
ence or disobedience ; and if he chooses the former and obeys, 
he is then justified by the lata. The phrase is almost a 
technical one, but the meaning is obvious. He keeps the 
Law, and on account of this obedience he stands innocent and 



186 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Lasting effects of sin. Example. The sinning child. 

safe. He is safe from all charges of guilt, and from all the 
consequences of guilt. He enjoys peace of mind and a quiet 
conscience which result from his own moral excellence, — his 
strict obedience to the law. He is justified by works, and 
can have no place for repentance, and no need of a Savior. 

If, however, he has once committed sin, his character and 
standing are forever changed. He is, and must be, hence- 
forward on a different footing. Common sense teaches us 
this ;— for suppose that among the spotless angels around 
God's throne there was one who, millions of years ago, on 
one single occasion, fell into a passion, or yielded his heart to 
the dominion of any other sin. Suppose that he was brought 
immediately to repentance, and that he returned to duty, and 
never afterward transgressed, and that God forgave him his 
sin, — how evident it is that the moral attitude in which he 
stands must still, thenceforth, be different from that of all the 
others. How differently would he be looked upon ! How 
differently must he forever feel ! The recollection would fol- 
low him, and something like a sense of responsibility would 
follow him, — a burden which no lapse of time, and no sub- 
sequent obedience could remove. 

It would be so, too, under any other government. Even 
where the sin is entirely forgiven, the fact that it has once 
been committed places the sinner on permanently different 
ground. Among a family of affectionate children, suppose 
that one should, on a single occasion, rebel against his father, 
and introduce for one day derangement and suffering into the 
usually happy circle. The father takes such measures as to 
bring him back immediately to repentance and submission, 
and he is forgiven ; freely and fully forgiven, — and yet how 
plain it is that the next morning, when the family are about 
to separate from the breakfast table, to engage in the various 
duties of the day, that this returning and forgiven sinner, 
stands in a moral attitude entirely different from the rest. 



PARDON. 187 



Change in his moral position. Justification. - Peace of conscious rectitude. 

He feels differently ; his brothers feel toward him differently ; 
his father looks upon him with new and altered thoughts. 
The evil consequences of his sin are perhaps all over, — for 
his father may have remedied them all. The guilt of it is 
all gone, — for he is really penitent, and he is renewed and 
strengthened in his feeling of affectionate submission to his 
father. But something remains. It is not resentment against 
him ; — his father and his brothers love him even more than 
before. It is not suspicion ; — they feel increased confidence 
in him, knowing that the bitter lesson that he has learned 
will save him from wandering again. It is not alienation 
of any kind, — their hearts are bound more closely to him 
than ever, and you will see that there is a tone of greater 
kindness, and a look of greater affection, from father and 
mother, to this their returning son than if he had not sinned 
and been forgiven. "What is it, then, that remains ? It is hard 
to describe it, but the heart testifies that there is something 
which places him in a new position, and gives to the affec- 
tion of which he is an object, a peculiar character. He is 
justified ; that is, there no longer rests upon him the respon- 
sibilities of guilt, — but he is not justified by his obedience, — 
by the deeds of the law. He has violated law, and wandered 
from duty, and yet he is justified and loved again. 

Sin, therefore, even if it is sincerely repented of and en- 
tirely forgiven, places the soul which has committed it in a 
new and peculiar attitude. If peace returns, it is not the 
peace of conscious rectitude ; it is the peace of forgiveness, — 
of reconciliation ; — as perfect as the other, but of a different 
kind. This distinction is clear. Every one who looks into 
his own heart will see it. The two kinds of justification and 
of peace are brought to view continually in the New Testa- 
ment, where almost every form of contrast and antithesis is 
employed to set one over against the other, in order to give 
point and prominence to the distinction. It is of immense 



188 THE CORNER-STONE 



Peace of forgiveness. Joys of forgiveness. 

importance that the young Christian should consider this, so 
that he may clearly understand which kind of peace and 
happiness it is that he can hope to attain. 

Forgiveness ; the proud, unsubdued, and restless spirit of 
the world knows not what it means ; hut he who has ex- 
perienced the enjoyment which springs from it, feels that it 
is the richest and deepest fountain of human happiness. The 
heart renewed, — sin throwing down its weapons and escaping 
from the temple which it has made wretched so long, — God 
reconciled, — the soul overflowing with the emotions of grati- 
tude and love, to which the contrast of past indifference and 
enmity gives a character of warmth and vividness, which 
they can never know who have never sinned ; — the past, 
gloomy and dark as it is, all forgiven, — the future, bright and 
alluring with promised enjoyments which are prized the more 
as the free unmerited gifts of infinite love, — these are some 
of the feelings which mingle in the heart which is reconciled 
to God. Others lie too deep for description ; they must be 
experienced to be known ; but they who know them will 
testify, that in the sense of penitence and pardon, where it 
has full possession of the soul, there are fountains of as pure 
and deep enjoyment as the heart can contain. The soul rests 
in it, bathes itself in it, as it were, with contented and peace- 
ful delight. Other enjoyments are restless and unsatisfying. 
This fills the soul, and leaves it nothing to wish for but to be 
undisturbed. It is hardly proper for us to inquire why sin 
was permitted to enter the government of God ; but this we 
can see, that it has opened a fountain of enjoyment entirely 
unknown before. It has brought happiness which, without 
it, could not have been felt upon the earth, and it has even 
introduced a new song into heaven. 

But this is a digression from our path. We were endeav- 
oring to show that sin necessarily places the soul which has 



PARDON. 189 



The sting of sin. Its permanence. - A wounded spirit. 

fallen a prey to it, in an entirely new moral position. Even 
when it is forgiven, the moral attitude in which the sinner 
stands remains permanently changed. This is, however, not 
the consideration with which we are here chiefly concerned. 
We wish rather to show the change that it produces in the 
relation which the soul sustains to its Maker, "before it is for- 
given. It fixes a burden upon the guilty mind, which can 
not be taken off, though other objects and interests may come 
in and, in time, hide it in some measure from his view. It 
is thus perhaps gradually forgotten, but it is not removed. 
It remains like a fragment of a weapon in a wound, perhaps 
seldom noticed or felt ; but it is there, and when memory 
brings it back to view, it sends a pang of remorse to the in- 
most soul. Many persons carry such sins upon their con- 
sciences all through life. Some transgression was committed 
in early youth, which has been a thousand times forgotten, 
and a thousand times called back by memory to view, and 
every time it comes the heart sinks, and the spirit writhes, 
under the rankling of the wound. 

Such is sin. It is a barbed and poisoned arrow, which, if 
once allowed to enter, will penetrate deeper and deeper, and 
will remain, unless removed by a moral treatment adapted 
to the moral constitution of man ; and the wound can not 
be healed till the sin is taken away. You may cover it up ; 
you may forget it, you may, like a man with a wounded side, 
take care to keep the tender part from the slightest touch 
which may disturb its quiet, — but the wound still is there, 
and it can not be healed, till the sting which was left in it 
is taken away. 

Now this, my reader, is your case. Sin has reigned in 
your heart, and consequently the peace and satisfaction of 
perfect obedience are gone forever ; and such is the moral 
constitution of the soul, that there is no peace left for you, 
but that of forgiveness and reconciliation. This can not 



190 THE CORNER-STONE. 

The way to find peace. The Savior. Peace and pardon. 



come through mere repentance, — or confession, — or reform. 
It can not come by these means, in any case of sin or crime 
whatever. A thief who should be pardoned by government, 
and become truly penitent, and firmly re-established in the 
principles of integrity, would not, and could not through these 
alone, be restored to happiness, even as a citizen. The 
memory of the past would be bitterness and gall, and though 
he might gradually forget his wound, he could never by such 
remedies be made whole ; if he had nothing else to save him, 
he would carry the galling and heavy burden to his grave. 
And you, if you are to find real peace, real deliverance from 
the burdens of sin, must find it in clear views of a Savior 
crucified for you ; and in coming to him with faith, that is, 
cordial, unhesitating confidence, that he is able and willing 
to save to the uttermost all who come unto God through him. 
You must feel that, by his life, and sufferings, and death, he 
has accomplished all which would have been effected by the 
punishment due to your sins, and that henceforth you may 
go free, safe, and happy in him ; — the past remitted forever, 
and the path of holiness and peace now open broadly before 
you and inviting you on. 

We must make a clear distinction, however, between peace 
and pardon. Cases are constantly occurring, where a person 
who, from peculiar circumstances, has obscure or clouded 
views of the nature of forgiveness, and the necessity of a Sa- 
vior, is still really penitent for sin. If penitent, he will be 
forgiven* — in fact he is forgiven, though it may be, as it very 
often is, weeks and months, and even years, before he sees so 
clearly the nature of redemption through the son of God, as 
to have peace and happiness restored to his heart. The great 
point is, to induce sinners to return to God, and to give their 
hearts to him. If they do this aright, they will be humble, 
and watchful, and prayerful, and God will guide them to all 
truth ; but there are many instances where the returning of 



PAHDON. - 191 

Peace deferred. - John Bunyan's view. 

peace to the troubled spirit is long delayed. The little child 
may begin to love its Maker before it knows any thing about 
the way of safe forgiveness ; so may a half-instructed pagan ; 
so did in fact the Savior's disciples ; they thought that their 
master was to have redeemed his country by the exercise of 
some political power, and they retained this belief until they 
actually saw him crucified ; and even in Christian countries, 
a soul may be often so shut away from the light and influ- 
ences of the gospel, as to feel after a Savior for a long time, 
in vain. All such persons may be fully pardoned, and yet 
may be slow in finding peace. It is moral renewal alone, 
which is the essential thing for pardon A knowledge of 
the salvation by Jesus Christ, and clear ideas of the great 
sacrifice for sin, give peace. St. Paul, the ablest, the most 
powerful and thorough-going preacher of the cross that ever 
lived, understood this, when, standing before the august as- 
sembly at Athens, he preached simple repentance, and a 
judgment to come. If he could induce his hearers to repent, 
he knew that they would be saved, even though they might 
not at once attain to such clear ideas of the propitiatory sac- 
rifice of Christ as to make them feel assured of salvation. 
Nay, we have higher authority still, for Jehovah himself sent 
priests and prophets, for four thousand years, simply to call 
upon his people to repent of sin and do their duty ; they made 
but a very few obscure allusions to a Savior, — so obscure that 
they were not understood till that Savior came. 

John Bunyan has beautifully exhibited this view, by mak- 
ing Christian continue to bear his burden long after he has 
entered the narrow way. The face of the pilgrim was turned 
toward Zion, and though he fell into many sins, and encoun- 
tered many difficulties on the way, still his heart was chang- 
ed. Finding the burden of his past sins now a very heavy 
load, he seeks relief from a friend whom he meets. But the 
friend replies, " Be content to bear thy burden, till thou com- 



192 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Christian at the cross. The way to remove the burden. 

est to the place of deliverance : for there it will fall from 
thy back of itself." 

This burden, now, was not the burden of existing sin, but 
of responsibility for past sin. If it had been the former, the 
advice of the guide would have been absurd and ruinous. 
No, it was not the present pollution of sin, but its past re- 
sponsibilities which became so heavy a burden to the pilgrim ; 
and though his heart was renewed, and he was in the right 
way, it was some time before he came so near to the cross 
of Christ, as to understand and feel its power in relieving his 
conscience of its load. He went on afterward with light and 
happy steps. 

The great question, then, with every religious inquirer is, 
whether you have found penitence, not whether you have 
found peace. Do you relinquish sin ? Are you weary of 
it, and do you loathe and abhor it, on its own account, as an 
evil and bitter thing, from which you can sincerely pray to 
be free ? There is a burden resting upon you, which still 
destroys your rest, and while your heart has really returned 
to God, and you can find no happiness but in him, you won- 
der that you continue wounded and miserable, instead of 
finding the relief at once, which you hoped that penitence 
would bring. You fear, therefore, that you are not really 
penitent, though you are almost directly conscious that you 
are so ; and you sink, overwhelmed with the difficulties of 
understanding the movements and the condition of your own 
heart. You feel a burden, and think that it must be the 
burden of present guilt. 

But if your heart is really in the condition I have described, 
it is the burden of responsibility for past sins which hangs 
over you and bows you down, though your heart is really re- 
newed, and consequently you are freed, in some degree, from 
the present power of sin. The remedy is the cross of Christ. 
Come to it, and see what Jesus has done and suffered for 



PARDON. 193 



Come to the Savior. 



you. Look at the moral effect of this great sacrifice, and 
feel that it takes off all the necessity of punishment, and all 
the burden of your guilt. Come and trust to this sacrifice. 
Seek union with Christ, so as to be one with him, and open 
your heart to the full admission of his assurance, that you 
may, through this union, have all past responsibilities ended 
forever, and that all the blessings which his unfailing obedi- 
ence and spotless perfection have deserved, may flow in upon 
you. But oh, remember, if you do thus come and give your- 
self to your Savior, going free from the bitter fruits of sin, 
through his sufferings, and expecting to enter your home in 
heaven, under his protection, and in his name,— remember 
that giving yourself up to him must not be an empty form. 
Christ gave himself up for us, not to have us go on in sin, 
after receiving forgiveness, but to redeem us from all iniquity, 
and to purify unto himself a peculiar people. If you hope 
for pardon in this way. you must give up the world and sin 
entirely, and forever. Henceforth, its allurements and temp- 
tations must be nothing to you. You must say, in language, 
which, like a great many other passages occurring in every 
page of the New Testament, is dark to those who have not 
experienced its meaning. " I am crucified with Christ, never- 
theless I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me ; and the life 
which I now live in the flesh, I live by the faith of the Son 
of God. who loved me, and gave himself for me." 

I 



194 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Plan of this work. Analysis of preceding chapters. 



CHAPTER VII. 

THE LAST SUPPER. 
" I have desired to eat this passover with you, before I suffer." 

The plan which has been followed in the progress of this 
work, may not have been very obvious to the reader. It 
was our design to present the great elementary truths of the 
religion of the gospel, as they naturally connect themselves 
with the circumstances of our Savior's history. We accord- 
ingly commenced with his childhood, and were led at once 
into a train of reflection on the nature and the character of 
that eternal and invisible essence, whose attributes were per- 
sonified in him. His conduct and character as a man came 
next before us, then the views of religious duty which he 
came to urge upon men. The rejection of his message by 
mankind, the consequences of it, and the way by which these 
consequences may, in any case, be prevented, naturally fol- 
lowed, leading us a little way from the immediate history of 
our Savior. We now return to it, — ready, however, to be 
led away again, whenever necessary to accomplish the great 
design of this volume. 

We have already shown that the great object which the 
Savior had in view, in the influence which he endeavored to 
exert over men, was to induce them to repent of sin, and to 
return to duty ; and not to make them theoretically acquaint- 
ed with theological truth. He pressed moral obligation upon 
them, and endeavored to arouse and to enlighten the con- 



THE LAST SUFPER. 



195 



The last supper. 



Jerusalem. 



science. He did indeed assure them of forgiveness, if they 
would abandon sin, but he left them in a great measure, to 
be taught by a future revelation, which was to be made by 
his Spirit to the apostles, in what way that promised forgive- 
ness was to be obtained. It was not until after his resurrec- 
tion that he discoursed freely and plainly, even with his dis- 
ciples, on this subject. Then indeed he explained the sub- 
ject to them fully. He showed them that "he ought," that 
is, that it was necessary for him "to have suffered these 
things, and to enter into his glory ; and beginning at Moses 
and all the prophets, he expounded unto them, hi all the 
Scriptures, the things concerning himself." 

This full disclosure of the nature and objects of his mission 
was thus not made until after his death. He approached, 
however, to such a disclosure, in his last sad interview with 
his disciples, on the night in which he was betrayed. It is 
to the circumstances and character of this interview, that we 
have to call the attention of our readers in this chapter 



Jerusalem was at 
this time crowded with 
strangers, so much so 
that, though the enmi- 
ty against the Savior 
had been gathering 
strength until it was 
now ready to burst all 
barriers, the leaders did 
not dare to proceed 
openly against him, for 
fear of a riot among 
these multitudes which 
they should not be able 
to control. They feared 
the people, it is said, — 




JERUSALEM. 



196 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Supposed feelings of the populace. The last passover. 

for the people Joved to listen to him, and therefore would 
probably defend him. They greatly misunderstood the human 
heart. He deserved to be beloved, and they supposed that 
he would be beloved ; but the very populace whom they so 
much feared, instead of feeling any disposition to protect 
their innocent victim, joined the cry against him. Far 
from giving the enemies of Christ any embarrassment or 
restraint, the clamor of the populace was the very means of 
urging the Roman, governor to do what his own sense of 
justice most plainly condemned. 

At all events the enemies of the Savior thought it wise to 
proceed with caution, and they were at this time warily lay- 
ing plots for his life. We shall consider the nature of the 
plan which they finally formed in the next chapter. It is 
sufficient here to say, that Jesus knew the whole, and felt 
that his last hour had nearly come. He had been accustom- 
ed for some time to speak in public during the day, and at 
night to go out to rest in the neighboring villages, or to seek 
retirement and prayer upon the Mount of Olives. His last 
night had now come. His last public address to men had 
been delivered. The sun had set for the last time, to him, 
and nothing now remained but to give his beloved disciples 
his farewell charge, and then once more to take his midnight 
walk, and offer his midnight prayer. 

It was evening ; the evening of a great festive celebration, 
which for fourteen hundred years had been uninterruptedly 
observed. Established to commemorate one deliverance, and 
to typify another very singularly analogous to it, it was in- 
tended to continue till the Lamb of God should at length be 
slain. A new and nobler ordinance was then to take its 
place ; an ordinance of deeper meaning, and higher value, — 
and of interest not to one small province only, but destined 
to extend its influence to every nation on the globe. This 
night, therefore, strictly speaking, was to be celebrated the 



THE LAST SUPPER. 197 



Moral greatness of the occasion. The meeting. 

last passover. The thousands who crowded the city did not 
know it ; hut Jesus did, and, as he made his preparations foi 
celebrating it, with his friends, noiselessly and quietly, in 
their upper chamber, he must have been impressed with the 
moral greatness of the occasion. A friendless man, perse- 
cuted and defenseless, and doomed to be executed, the next 
day, as a malefactor, — coming, with his twelve friends', as 
powerless and unprotected as himself, into their secluded 
room, there to bring to a close the long series of splendid 
celebrations which, for fourteen centuries, had been sustained 
by God's command. Yes : the meeting on that night was 
the connecting link between the old dispensation and the 
new. Jesus must have so considered it. Friendless and 
persecuted as he was, — the whole city thronged with his 
enemies, — the plot for his destruction matured, and spies out 
for him,— the very price for his life actually paid, and dan- 
ger pressing around him so closely that he was obliged to 
make his arrangements very privately, in order to be sure of 
an uninterrupted hour, — he yet must have felt that he 
was bringing the long series of Jewish rites and ceremonies 
to its termination, and introducing a new dispensation, whose 
ordinances, of nobler meaning, beginning there, were to 
spread to every nation, and to last through all time. It is 
strange that the place chosen for this, too, should be the very 
heart and center of hostility to his cause. 

At the appointed hour the few faithful followers of Jesus 
came together, and as they assembled around the table, their 
Master felt that he met them for the last time. They felt 
it too. He told them plainly that his hour had come, and 
they felt depressed and dejected, looking forward as they did 
with anxiety and terror to the scenes which were to ensue. 
They understood but very imperfectly what these scenes 
were to be, but Jesus himself knew all. They were in the 
dark, or at least they saw but dimly, but it was all broad 



198 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Anxiety and sadness. The Savior's religious instruction. 

light to him. As he looked around upon his little circle of 
adherents, he could foresee precisely what part each one 
would take in the approaching solemnities. There was 
Judas, with the price of his Master's blood already paid, — 
there was Peter, who was to abandon and deny him, — and 
not one, of all his warmest friends, but would forsake him in 
the hour of danger, and fly. But he did not think of these 
things. It was the last time that he was to be with them 
before his death ; and while he was fully aware that their 
fortitude could not stand the dreadful trial to which it was 
soon to be exposed, he did not dwell upon such thoughts. 
He looked upon them with interest and sympathy, not with 
anger, — and endeavored to comfort, not to reprove them. 
He once became agitated in speaking of his betrayal, but 
composure soon returned. 

But we must come to the discourse. The peculiar circum- 
stances under which this meeting was held, distinguish it 
from every other occasion on which the Savior gave religious 
instruction. In fact we may almost say it was the first and 
only occasion on which he gave what may be strictly called 
religious instruction. He had pressed duty in a thousand 
forms, before ; — here he exhibited truth. He had on every 
occasion, — in the house and by the way, — in the thronged 
city, and before the multitudes assembled in the fields and 
on the sea-shore, — urged men to repent and forsake their sins ; 
now he was to exhibit some great truths more clearly than 
he had ever done before, to a small and select company, whose 
hearts had long been preparing to receive them. In the 
path along which ha led the human mind, repentance came 
first, and theology afterward ; and it would be well if cavil- 
ing inquirers, at the present day, would follow his example. 
They should begin by obeying the sermon on the Mount, 
and then come and listen to the conversation at the last 
supper. 



THE LAST SLTPER. 199 



He pressed duty first. Nicodemus. Theories of regeneration. 

There is something most highly interesting and instructive 
in the manner in which the Savior adapted his communica- 
tions to the occasions on which they were to be made, and tc 
the purposes which he endeavored to effect by them. A 
modern preacher would have, carried the metaphysics of 
theology all over the villages of Galilee, and would have 
puzzled the woman of Samaria, or the inquiring ruler, with 
questions about the nature of the Godhead, or the distinction 
between moral and natural inability. But Jesus Christ 
pressed simple duty. His explanations all went to throw 
light upon the one single distinction, between right and 
wrong. Even when Nicodemus came to him, the man 
better qualified, perhaps, than any other one who visited 
him, for theological discussion, he simply urged upon him 
the necessity of the great change of heart ; he attempted 
no explanation of the precise mode by which the heavenly 
influence could effect it. He pressed the fact, but declined 
all investigation of the theory. Indeed he pronounced the 
subject beyond the grasp of our present powers ; and yet, 
notwithstanding this, human pride and self-conceit have 
clambered over the barrier which he thus attempted to 
raise ; and confused, and contradictory, and unintelligible 
speculations, agreeing in nothing but hostility to one another, 
— killing the spirit of piety and destroying the peace of the 
church, have been continually appearing, from that day to 
this, — a standing and perpetual commentary on the Sivior's 
words, and a most powerful though most melancholy proof 
of the wisdom which dictated them. 

But to return to the subject of our Savior's instructions. 
These instructions, when addressed to the public at large, 
related to duty, — direct, practical, immediate duty, — and he 
seemed to love to bring duty to view in ways so clear, and in 
cases so plain, that no proof but the testimony of conscience 
within ever}- man's bosom, should be necessary to establish 



200 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Topics now brought forward. Free conversation. Truths adduced 

his positions. " If any man will do his will he shall know 
of the doctrine," was his motto, and he acted according to it. 
The time, however, for instruction had now come,— instruc- 
tion in the higher truths of religion, — the nature of the 
Deity, the relation sustained to him by Jesus Christ, the 
design and fruits of true religion, remission of past sins 
through the Redeemer's blood, and the presence and in- 
fluences of the Holy Spirit as the means of leading men to 
repentance. These were topics on which the Savior had 
seldom spoken didactically before, but now the last oppor- 
tunity had come, and he opened before those who were to be 
the future ministers of his religion, new treasures of religious 
knowledge. He had been the preacher before, — he became 
the religious teacher now, — and under the guidance of the 
beloved disciple, who has recorded the conversation, let us 
go in, to the still, solemn assembly, and hear what he has to 
say. 

It was a familiar conference, rather than a formal dis- 

a. 

course. The disciples freely asked questions, and sometimes 
the conversation ceased to be general, and the individuals 
of the company talked with one another in separate groups, 
as they happened to be seated together. The great truths 
of religion were, however, the subjects of discussion, and 
nothing could afford higher proof of the genuineness and 
truth of the description of this interview, than the cautious, 
hesitating manner in which the leading disciples are repre- 
sented as asking their questions ; it was in precisely the way, 
in which now and extraordinary developments of truth are 
always received by pupils, from a teacher to whom they look 
up with veneration and respect. But let us look at these 
truths in detail. 

1. He explained to them that he was the great manifesta- 
tion of the Divinity to men ; and that consequently it was 



THE LAST SUPPER. 201 



Testimony respecting himself. Philip's question. Way to approach the Deity. 

only through him, that the human mind could find its access 
to the Divinity. But let us quote his words. 

I am the way, and the truth, and the life : no man cometh 
unto the Father but by me. 

If ye had known me, ye should have known my Father 
also : and from henceforth ye know him, and have seen 
him. 

Philip saith unto him, Lord show us the Father, and it 
sufrlceth us. 

Jesus saith unto him, Have I been so long time with you, 
and yet hast thou not known me, Philip ? he that hath seen 
me, hath seen the Father ; and how sayest thou then, Show 
us the Father ? 

Believest thou not that I am in the Father, and the 
Father in me ? the words that I speak unto you, I speak not 
of myself ; but the Father that dwelieth in me, he doeth the 
works. 

Believe me that I am in the Father, and the Father in 
me : or else believe me for the very works' sake.^ 

The human mind still repeats Philip's very natural re- 
quest. " Show us the Father." It reaches forward for some 
vision of the divinity, — the great unseen and inconceivable 
essence, which pervades all space, and exists through all time ; 
and it often decks out for itself, as we have shown in the 
preceding chapter, a gorgeous image, with crown and scepter 
and throne, which reason tells them can not exist, and which 
if it did exist, would be a splendid idol, not God. How 
many Christians bow to such an image, which their imagina- 
tion has made ; — an idol more vain, in fact, than those of 
stocks and stones, — for they at least have substance, while 
this is but a phantom of the mind. ISo. Jesus Christ is the 
personification of the Divinity for us ; the brightness of his 
* Johnxiv. 6-11. 



202 THE CORNER-STONE. 

* 

Moral dependence. Ye haYe not chosen me. 

glory and the express image of his person, and it is by him 
alone that we are to find our way to the great power which 
reigns over us all. Believe this, said the Savior, on my 
assurance, or else believe it on account of the powers which 
you see that I possess, and the works I do. 

2. He taught them that divine influence upon the hearts 
of men was essential to their repentance and salvation. " Ye 
have not chosen me," said he, — " I have chosen you." What 
a declaration ! How solitary it makes the Savior in the 
world which he had come to redeem. More than thirty 
years he had spent here, doing good continually, and pro- 
claiming offers of reconciliation and pardon ; and now on the 
last night of his life, surrounded by inveterate foes, already 
actually sold to them, and with but a few hours of liberty 
remaining, — he gathers privately his friends, that he may 
have one last sad interview with them ; and here he had to 
reflect that even these his twelve friends, among ten thousand 
enemies, had not chosen him ; — he had chosen them. He 
stood alone, after all ; the only example of independent, 
original holiness. The universal reign of ungodliness and 
sin had been broken only where he had chosen individuals 
to be saved, and trained them, by his own power, to moral 
fruitfulness and beauty. 

" Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you." How 
much it means ! How many lessons we may, by a most 
direct and rigid inference, draw from it ! How lofty the 
moral courage which led him to say it ! Another man, in 
such a case, would have strengthened the attachment of the 
few who remained true to him, at such an hour, by praising 
their generous fidelity in adhering to their chosen friend. 
But Jesus, as if loving the solitary grandeur of the position in 
which he stood, with all the world against him except these 
twelve, gently withdraws himself even from these, " Ye 



THE LAST SUPPER. 203 



The vine and the branches. Union with Christ. The Comforter. 

have not chosen me, but I have chosen you, One of you 

will betray me, another will repeatedly deny that he is 

my friend, and in the course of this night, when the hour of 
real danger shall come, every one of you will be scattered, 
and will leave me alone." Solitary sufferer ! how wide a 
distance separated thy lofty powers, and original and stable 
virtue, from the weak and frail and cultivated attachment 
of thy trembling friends ! 

The Savior brought to view, in many other forms, the de- 
pendence of his disciples, for all the moral excellence which 
they could ever hope to possess, upon their union with him. 

"I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman. " 

" Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh 
away ; and every branch that beareth fruit he purgeth, that 
it may bear more fruit." 

" Now ye are clean through the word which I have spoken 
unto you." 

" Abide in me and I in you. As the branch can not bear 
fruit of itself except it abide in the vine, no more can ye ex- 
cept ye abide in me." 

It was as if he had said, You have no spiritual life origi- 
nating in yourselves and existing independently. You depend 
on me. It is by divine power exercised upon you, by means 
of your union with me, that your hearts are to be purified. 
Without this union you will be nothing. 

He spoke to them of the Comforter, also, alluding again 
and again to this promised influence from above ; saying 
first that he would send him from the Father, and again that 
the Father would send him in his, the Savior's, name. This 
Comforter, the Holy Spirit, was to enlighten their minds, and 
comfort their hearts, and above all was to bring effectually 
to the hearts and consciences of men, those great truths 
which he himself had preached to the ear in vain. The 



204 THE CORNER-STONE. 



His work upon human hearts. The disciple's question. 

three great subjects which the Spirit was to press upon the 
attention of mankind were pointed out. Human guilt, hu- 
man duty, and a judgment to come. " He shall reprove the 
world of sin and of righteousness ;" of righteousness and of 
sin, some theologians would say, reversing the order, — think- 
ing that in a logical arrangement, right should come before 
wrong. But no ; the Savior's view is far more true to na- 
ture and to fact. The Holy Spirit when it comes to men, 
finds them debased and depraved, — and righteousness, if it 
finds a place in human hearts at all, must be preceded by 
conviction of sin. To produce this conviction, and then to 
awaken penitence and love, and to keep alive a sense of 
obligation and accountability, is the work which this heav- 
enly visitor comes to do. 

The necessity of an interposition from Heaven to turn men 
away from their sins, and to bring them to repentance, had 
been often alluded to by our Savior before. But the truth 
stands out with uncommon clearness and prominence in these 
his last instructions. His pupils did not at once fully under- 
stand it. Nay, who, we may ask, understands it now ? 

" He that loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I 
will love him and manifest myself to him." 

" How," asked one of the disciples, " how is it that thou 
wilt manifest thyself unto tcs, and not unto the world?" 

" If a man love me," was the reply, " he will keep my 
words, and my Father will love him, and ive will come unto 
him and make our abode with him." 

It is no wonder that, with their imperfect ideas of the true 
character of their master, and of the relation which he sus- 
tained to the Divinity, they asked the question, how he could 
manifest himself to them and not to the world ; — and how 
strange must his reply have seemed to them, if they supposed 
it came from a man like themselves. God and I will come 



THE LAST SUPPER. 205 



Eternal life a gift. God's claim often resisted. 

and dwell with the good ! What language, — if a mere mor- 
tal man had uttered it. 

It is most interesting to observe how, in this whole con- 
versation, the thoughts of the Savior seem constantly to dwell 
on this great truth, — the moral dependence of the human 
heart on God. It comes up in various forms, again and again, 
as if it were a truth which his mind dwelt upon, and con- 
tinually recurred to with pleasure. Even in his prayer, it is 
most strongly expressed, and almost in the first words that he 
uttered. " As thou hast given him power over all flesh" — 
what sort of power ? we ask : — the answer follows ; — " that 
he should give eternal life, to as many as thou hast given 
him." And what is meant here by eternal life ? holiness 
itself, or the reward of holiness ? " And this is eternal life," 
the Savior proceeds, " that they might know thee, the only 
true God, and Jesus Christ ivhom thou hast sent." The 
knowledge of G-od, and of Jesus Christ his Son, is a gift from 
the Deity to men ; and it is Jesus Christ himself who be- 
stows it. 

The heart which is still unsubdued, is restless and dissatis- 
fied, under the claim which God thus asserts to all the praise 
which human holiness deserves. But the soul which is really 
penitent and humble finds its greatest happiness in feeling 
and acknowledging it. Religion is submission to God ; and 
the feeling of submission and the sense of dependence are 
called for more imperiously in reference to our moral and 
spiritual wants than to any other. There is in fact no moral 
or spiritual safety without these feelings, and our Savior 
knew this full well. There is scarcely any subject which he 
brought more continually to view. On this occasion he ex- 
pressed the sentiment again and again, in various forms ; or 
rather expressions seemed spontaneously to flow from his lips, 
recognizing the truth as if it were one which he dwelt upon 
with continual pleasure. 



206 THE CORNER-STONE. 

The happiness of yielding to it. Feeling of dependence safe : happy. 

The feeling which prompted this is one which every true 
Christian can understand. The highest emotion of enjoy- 
ment which the renewed heart can feel is perhaps this sense 
of entire, unqualified, unconditional submission to God. The 
word submission does not however precisely express the feel- 
ing. It is the sense of being entirely and altogether in God's 
hands and at God's disposal, — in every respect, — for life, 
health, prosperity, character, heart, every thing. It is when 
this feeling has most complete and unbroken ascendency in 
the mind that the soul attains its highest position, and enjoys 
its purest happiness. Theoretical reasoning on the subject 
might lead us to suppose that such a feeling would diminish 
the sense of responsibility, and throw the soul off its guard, 
and leave it exposed to temptation, by its trusting thus its 
moral keeping to another. But no ; it is not so in fact. The 
heart which lies most submissive in its Maker's hands, and 
trusts most entirely to his protection, is the one which is most 
alive to the guilt and dangers of sin, and most sensitive and 
shrinking in respect to the slightest contamination. The 
higher are its ideas of its own moral helplessness, the firmer 
is the ground on which it stands. When it is weak, then it 
is strong. Christian philosophy has been sadly perplexed to 
explain the theory of moral agency, and the nature of the 
divine control over human hearts ; but Christian experience 
settles all questions about the fact ; and the penitent and 
humbled soul, that is willing to leave the whole field of 
worldly influences and all the speculations of human science, 
and go on alone after God, will, in the depths of its own ex- 
perience, be led to views of the extent of this control which 
can never be forced by argument upon those who have not 
acquired them by their own spiritual vision. The temple of 
leligious experience has all its magnificence and all its gran 
deur within ; and they who have found their way into the 
inner apartments, and have actually gazed upon the solemn 



THE LAST SUPPER. 207 



Religious experience. Trust in God. Physical danger. 

splendor that is there, can understand and sympathize with 
one another ; while they who stand without can never be 
convinced, by argument or description, of what they can not 
see. Jesus Christ did not attempt to produce such convic- 
tion. He adapted his discourse to the degree of progress 
which they who heard it had made. He did not stand argu- 
ing without, but led his followers in, and pointed out the 
sublimer truths, and the loftier sentiments of religion, only as 
fast as they could see and feel them. 

We have seen that the feeling which seemed so to fill the 
Savior's heart on this occasion, the entire spiritual depend- 
ence of the human soul on God, is a safe feeling ; it is also 
a most happy one. A sense of dependence, and confidence 
in promised protection, are delightful emotions to hearts 
constituted as ours are. This is true in regard to physical 
dangers. "When the dark heavy clouds gather in the 
western sky, at the close of a sultry summer's day, and 
flashes of lightning are seen, and heavy rolling thunder 
seems to convulse the sky, the Christian father betakes him 
self to his sheltered home, and gathers his family around him> 
and loves to come and lay the whole precious trust into his 
Maker's hands. If his heart is right, it will be a happy 
hour to him. He has done all that he can do, and there is 
already over him whatever protection human art can raise 
against the rain and hail, and the tempestuous wind and 
fatal lightning, and all the dangers of the midnight storm ; 
but his happiness consists in forgetting all such protection, 
and coming to place himself and all that are dear to him 
under the mighty hand of God, confiding in him and him 
alone. He knows that he can trust to nothing beside. 
There is a roof over him, but one blast of the tempest 
might scatter it to fragments. His walls a single bolt from 
heaven might rend asunder, and his whole dwelling in a 
moment burst into flame. He knows all this; and it is his 



208 THE CORNER-STONE. 



The safe refuge. Other truths. Evidences of piety. 

happiness to feel that though he has done all that he can 
do, he must trust in God for safety, and in God alone. 

It is exactly so with his spiritual protection. He will 
do all that he can do, but he never will consider his 
prayers and resolutions and watchfulness, as his real defense 
against temptation and sin. No ; he takes delight in feel- 
ing that, in respect to moral protection, too, his trust is wholly 
in God ; and this feeling, that he is spiritually in his Maker's 
hands, is not only his greatest safety, — it is his highest hap- 
piness. The soul, too, comes to this feeling in all the trying 
scenes, and solemn occasions of life, with peculiar pleasure. 
It flies to it as to a refuge, and enjoys its refreshing influence 
when nothing else would sustain or console. Our Savior 
seems scarcely ever to have thought of it so much, and to 
have impressed it so strongly and so repeatedly upon his 
disciples, as in this last sad scene. 

But let us proceed to consider some of the other topics which 
Jesus brought before his disciples on this occasion. As we 
go on, the reader will be .struck at the selection that he made. 
The great fundamental truths of religion seemed to rise before 
him and occupy his view. His conversation was, in fact, a dis- 
course on the theology of the gospel, bringing out its great fea- 
tures, and holding them up prominently to view. It has not 
the formal arrangement of a scholastic discourse, but the truths 
are all there expressed ; and the nature of the views thus pre- 
sented, — truths so lofty and so profound, — contributes, quite as 
much, perhaps, as the affecting circumstances of the occasion, 
to give to the whole description that air of majestic and affect- 
ing solemnity, which is not equaled by any other passage, 
even in the Bible. But let us proceed to consider the re- 
maining topics. 

3. He taught them that the true evidences of piety are its 
fruits ; a truth of which it seems more difficult to convince 
mankind than of almost any other. Nobody denies it in 



THE LAST SUPPER. 209 



Fruits. Common errors. Two errors. 

words, but very few really believe it in fact. We are always 
substituting something else in the place of these fruits. It 
seems as if the Savior felt that now, as he was about to 
leave his disciples to carry on his work alone, they would 
be peculiarly exposed to danger from this source, and he ac- 
cordingly pressed upon them again and again attention to it. 
; ' By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye 
have love one to another." " If ye love me, keep my com- 
mandments." " He that hath my commandments and keep- 
eth them, he it is that loveth me." ' ; If a man love me, 
he will keep my words." " Herein is my Father glorified, 
that ye bear much fruit, so shall ye be my disciples." Such 
expressions were continually occurring in his discourse ; and 
if we consider, what was unquestionably the fact, that the 
record of John contains only a brief summary of the remarks 
which the Savior made, we shall be convinced that he urged 
this subject very emphatically and fully, upon the attention 
of his disciples. 

The church is, however, very slow to learn the lesson. 
"We err in two ways, sometimes by placing something else 
entirely, in the stead of fruits, as evidences of piety, and some- 
times on the other hand, by mistaking the nature of the fruits 
which are to be regarded as evidence. We do this continu- 
ally ; and probably when the day of real trial shall come, the 
whole church will be overwhelmed with astonishment to find 
at last what an immense amount of hollow and hypocritical 
pretensions, merely, will be found under her banner. In fact, 
the evidence which is perhaps mainly relied upon here, in 
determining the attitude in which a man stands, in respect 
to Christian character, is almost altogether different from that 
pointed out by the Savior. Bold assurance of profession, and 
religious party spirit, rank very high among the commonly 
received evidences of piety. If a man talks confidently of 
his change, and expresses deep interest in the duties of hi a 



210 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Abundance of talk. Party spirit in religion. Its nature. 

new service, and if the language of the Christian comes flu- 
ently from the tongue, we are slow to suspect insincerity. 
In many such cases the very profusion of professions might 
lead us to withhold our confidence. Empty profession is 
generally loquacious, while sincere and devoted attachment, is 
strong and deep in the heart, but its words are few. " Out 
of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh," the 
reader will say. True, it speaks out of the abundance, and 
yet it says but little. There is abundance of feeling but not 
of words. 

Party spirit in religion is another spurious proof of piety. 
The victim of it seems to be entirely devoted to the cause of 
Christ ; he feels indeed a strong interest in that cause, and he 
makes continual effort and submits to great sacrifices to pro- 
mote it. But the real fruits of piety do not reign in his heart, 
and if he were not spiritually blind, he would see that his 
zeal is party spirit, almost entirely ; — that is, an interest in 
the aggrandizement of an organization as such, of which he 
has become a constituent part. "Whenever men act together, 
the mind, by the action of one of its mysterious powers, sees 
a new being in the union, and soon forms almost a personal 
attachment to it. It enlists men's pride and ambition, and 
arouses all their ^energies ; and devotion to this imaginary 
existence becomes often one of the strongest passions of the 
human mind. It is one of the sins to which the human 
heart is most prone, and in which it is most impregnable. 
A man usually thinks it a virtue. He sees that he is not 
working for himself, and he persuades himself that it is the 
principles of his party which are the object of his attach- 
ment. But this is not the case, for when these principles 
spread partially into other parties he is always displeased. 
He is never satisfied at seeing his opponents coming to the 
truth, — they must come over to his side. 

This is party spirit, and the humble and devoted Christian 



THE LAST SUPrER. 211 



Its spirit. True fruits of piety. The catalogue. Love. Joy. 



who really loves his Master, finds it constantly insinuating 
itself into his heart, and acting as the motive of a very large 
proportion of his labors in the service of his Master. The 
tests by which this spirit can be detected we have not time 
now to describe ; but it burns everywhere in the Christian 
church, it influences parish against parish, and society against 
society, and makes each denomination jealous and suspicious 
of the rest. It frowns upon the truth and the Christian pros- 
perity which is not found within its own pale. It is the 
spirit of intolerance and exclusion. "We found one," it 
says, " casting out devils in thy name, and we forbade him, 
because he folloiceth not us." Banish this spirit forever. 
If men will cast out devils, no matter whom they follow ; 
they must do it, if they do it at all, in Jesus's name, and no 
matter for the rest. We must not frown upon real piety or 
truth, because they do not appear in our own uniform ; but 
then, on the other hand, we must never confound truth with 
error, nor admit the pretensions of any specious counterfeit 
which may assume the name and form of piety, while it is 
without its power. 

But what are the real fruits of piety ? the reader may 
ask. The apostle has given the catalogue. They are char- 
acteristics of the heart, not of the external conduct. They 
are these : 

Love. The heart that is renewed experiences an entire 
change in respect to its great ruling principles of action. In- 
stead of being swayed by the impulses of selfishness and pas- 
sion, its affections go forth and rest upon God as their supreme 
object, and link themselves also by indissoluble bonds with 
every other being who is joined in heart to him. These new 
emotions have henceforth the control. 

Joy. The prevalence of universal love will go very far 
toward producing universal enjoyment. Love is happiness, 
and it brings happiness in every form ; and true piety will 



212 THE CORNER-STONE 



Peace. Long-suffering. Gentleness. Goodness. 

find sources of pleasure which sin never knows. Where 
there is moroseness or melancholy, there must be something 
wrong. It may he moral or physical disease, hut it must he 
one or the other. 

Peace. Peace within the heart itself, and peace with 
others. Selfishness is keenly alive to its own rights, and 
keenly sensitive to injuries : and where each seeks mainly 
his own, there must he collision. Piety quiets animosities 
and strifes, by destroying the value of the objects of conten- 
tion. It points men to new sources of happiness ; and these 
new sources are such as can be enjoyed most perfectly when 
others share them. The heart that is renewed is at peace, 
too, within itself. Its irritating passions and corroding cares 
are all allayed, and the soul is like a summer's sea, serene 
and placid, — the storms of passion hushed, and the golden 
beams of the sun of righteousness reposing tranquilly upon it. 

Long- Suffering. The true Christian feels that he is 
himself forgiven, and consequently in his dealings with other 
wrong-doers he bears long and is kind. He looks upon sin 
with a feeling of compassion for the offender, ■ and remembers 
the burning from which he himself was saved. The heart- 
less pretender can, in public, assume this language ; but 
when off his guard at home, or in his counting-room, or field, 
his hasty words and impatient and angry looks often betray 
the spirit which reigns in his heart. 

Gentleness. The Christian feels that his great business 
in life is to lead hearts to the Savior : and hearts, if led at 
all, must be led gently. The hollow-hearted pretender will 
attempt to drive. Harsh, repulsive and tyrannical, he shows 
that he has not experienced the grace of God; for that al- 
ways softens asperities, and smooths the roughness with 
which selfishness is so often clothed. 

Goodness. The renewed heart feels a benevolent interest 
in the welfare of every sentient being. It desires universal 



the last suiter. 



213 



Faith. Meekness. Temperance. 

happiness, and springs, with an ever ready alacrity, to pro- 
duce it, wherever Providence shall present the opportunity. 
The great public effort, the generous donation, the open deed 
of charity, may be the result of pride, or ostentation, or party 
spirit ; but real Christian benignity shows itself in all the 
thousand nameless occasions where a word or a look or a 
trifling action may give pleasure. It shows itself in great 
efforts too ; but the highest proof of its existence and its 
power, is its continued, and universal, and spontaneous ac- 
tion. 

Faith. True piety believes what God declares, and trusts 
to it too. It sees heavenly realities, and feels their influence 
continually. It trusts in God's care, realizing that every 
mercy is his gift, and bowing submissively to affliction and 
trial. Hypocrisy is sound in its theoretical views, but it re- 
pines at losses, — or stands restless and uneasy over the cradle 
of a sick child, — or proves by the manner in which it pursues 
this world, that it has no faith in God's promises about the 
happiness of another. 

Meekness. The sincere Christian is humble in respect to 
himself, and indulgent and mild toward others. Having 
some conceptions of the deceitful wickedness of his own heart, 
he looks upon the worst of men as brother sinners. The 
hypocrite can not see his own pollution and guilt, and is 
consequently haughty, censorious, and uncharitable in respect 
to the failings of his fellow-men. 

Temperance. The worldly enjoyments of the sincere dis- 
ciple are in all respects regulated by Christian principles. 
The regulator, existing in the heart, acts always, and with 
steady consistency. Hypocrisy restrains those indulgences 
which men would see and condemn, but she rewards herself 
for her venal virtue by the freedom of her secret sins. 

Such are the fruits of piety, as enumerated by an inspired 
apostle. It was such fruits as these that our Savior had in 



214 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Other occurrences at the interview. The Lord's supper. 

view. He charged his disciples, again and again, to look for 
these as the only evidences that human professions of love to 
him were really sincere. 

We have thus considered the three great truths which 
stand out most prominently in the instructions of this occa- 
sion. There were, however, various other topics discussed, 
and various incidents likewise occurred, which it does not 
comport with our present purpose to describe. There are 
many considerations which it would be highly interesting to 
present, such as the perfect frankness with which Jesus fore- 
told the dangers and sufferings which his disciples were about 
to incur in his cause ; the frequency and earnestness with 
which he pressed upon them the promised efficacy of prayer, 
sometimes saying that he, and sometimes that the Father 
would grant their requests ; and the manner in which he 
presented to them the comforts and consolations of religion, 
as their refuge and solace in their future trials. These things, 
however, we can not dwell upon now. 

At the close of the interview the Savior established the 
great Christian ordinance which has been celebrated in com- 
memoration of his death in every age, without interruption, 
from that day to this. The circumstances under which the or- 
dinance was established teach us a lesson, as we have already 
briefly said in a preceding chapter, in regard to the manner 
in which our Savior regarded forms and ceremonies, which 
his followers have in all ages been very prone to forget. It 
is not that they overrate the importance of external religious 
observances, but that they forget what it is upon which their 
importance and value entirely depend, — namely, their spirit- 
ual meaning, and the feelings of heart with which they -are 
performed. 

It was one great object of the Savior's preaching to call 
the attention of men from outward actions to inward char- 



THE LAST SUPrER. 



215 



The Savior's view of ceremonies. Forms and feelings. Baptism. 

acter, and the manner in which he instituted this last solemn 
ceremony is precisely in keeping with the whole tenor of his 
public instructions. There is no formal ceremonious prepa- 
ration for it ; there are no studied arrangements and no cau- 
tions prescription of mode and form ; but wdien the time 
arrives for his last farewell, he merely sets apart, in the most 
simple maimer, his last solemn act of intercourse with his 
disciples, as a perpetual memorial of his death ; — and he does 
it too in such a way as most effectually to fix their minds 
upon its moral meaning, — its spiritual effect. He did not 
devise any new ceremony for the purpose, but only paused 
upon a portion of the solemn transaction in which he was 
last engaged, and consecrated that. He did it too in lan- 
guage so brief and general as to show that moral impression, 
not ceremonial exactness, was what he had in view in look- 
ing forward to future celebrations of the ordinance, by his 
followers in ages to come. " Take these," says he, as he 
offers them the bread which had been placed upon the table 
for another purpose, and poured out another cup of their 
simple wine. " Take these as emblems of my sufferings and 
death, incurred for the remission of your sins, and henceforth 
do this in remembrance of me. As often as you do it, you 
do show forth the Lord's death until he come." 

The Savior acted evidently upon the same principles in 
regard to the other great ceremony of the Christian religion. 
He wished for some mode by -which an open profession of at- 
tachment to him might be made ; and he just adopts the one 
already in use, for such a purpose. He did not contrive 
baptism, as a mode of publicly professing piety, — he merely 
adopted it, formed already, as it was, to his hands. The 
people were accustomed to it. Their associations were al- 
ready formed in connection with it, and this rendered it con« 
venient for immediate adoption. He would probably have 
taken any other form had any other been more convenient 



216 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Tho rainbow. Ceremonies symbolical. 

and common. The one chosen is indeed highly appropriate ; 
denoting so clearly the inward purification which the open 
profession of faith in Christ and of adhesion to his cause 
should always bring with it ; but it is the sincerity with 
which it is performed, not the appropriateness of its char- 
acter, which gives it all its value. 

Such is the origin then of the ceremonies of the Christian 
faith. For a mode of admission to his church, the Savior 
simply takes the ordinary sign of religious profession among 
the people with whom he lived ; and in the selection of a 
ceremony to commemorate his sufferings and death, and to 
be, in all ages and in every land, a perpetual memorial of 
the most momentous transaction which ever occurred, he 
simply pauses a moment upon the last act which he perform- 
ed in the presence of his friends, — an act most solemnly sig- 
nificant, it is true, — and consecrates that to the great purpose 
which he had in view. It reminds us of a transaction which 
occurred twenty-five centuries before, when Jehovah, after 
the flood, wishing to quiet the fears which future clouds and 
storms might awaken among his children, just takes the rain- 
bow, the object most obvious on the occasion when it is 
wanted, as the token of his promised protection. In nothing 
more strikingly than in this, are false religions distinguishable 
from true. The former are yielding and flexible as to prin- 
ciples, but minute in the specification of forms, and unbend- 
ing in the exaction of obedience. The latter makes moral 
principle the rock, unmoved and immovable though heaven 
and earth should pass away ; but when it comes to signs and 
ceremonies it is liberal in the extreme. The ordinances of 
the gospel are indeed appropriate and symbolical, but they 
are no more so than a thousand others would have been, 
which, under different circumstances, it would have been 
quite as convenient to adopt. The ceremony of admission to 
the church would have had as much meaning if it had con- 



THE LAST SUITER. 



217 



Monuments. A contrast. The pyramids and the Lord's supper. 



sisted simply in holding up the hands to heaven, or appearing 
in a white robe, the emblem of purity, or hi making the sign 
of the cross upon the forehead. 

And yet there is something in the simple act which Jesus 
Christ consecrated as a memorial of him, which renders it 
admirably adapted to its purpose. Other persons have gen- 
erally endeavored to perpetuate their memory by leaving 
some magnificent monument behind them. One of the most 
striking exhibitions that human beings make of the mysteri- 
ous principles of their nature, is, by their desperate struggles 
to keep a place for their names upon the earth, after they 
have themselves gone beneath the ground. One founds a 
city ; another, at a vast expense, erects a mausoleum, and a 
third stamps his effigy upon a medal or a coin. But Jesus 
Christ understood human nature better. He used no marble, 
or brass, or iron, — he laid no deep foundations, and reared no 
lofty columns. When he bade the world farewell, he simply 
asked his friends occasionally to 'perform one simple act in 
remembrance of him. 

He was wiser than the builders of the pyramids. A hun- 
dred thousand men, if ancient story be true, were employed 
by one monarch, for twenty years, in rearing the pile which 
was to perpetuate his memory. The Savior accomplished 
this end far more effectually by a few parting words. 

Yes ; Jesus Christ left us as a memorial, not a magnifi- 
cent thing to be looked at, but a very simple thing to be 
done ; and the influence, in keeping the remembrance of the 
Savior before the minds of men, which the simple ceremony 
has exerted, for eighteen centuries, and which it still exerts, 
shows the wisdom of the plan. Its very simplicity, too, is 
the means of rendering it, to a considerable extent, a test of 
the sincerity of professed attachment to the Savior ; for the 
ceremony can not long continue in its simplicity, unless such 
attachment sustains it. When love is gone, it becomes un- 

K 



218 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Test of sincerity. Exact obedience. 

meaning, and from its very nature there is nothing but its 
meaning to give it interest among men. When the heart 
ceases to be in it, then there is but one alternative, — it must 
lose its whole value, and ultimately be abandoned, or else 
pomp and parade must come in, to supply the interest which 
grateful recollection ought to give. It has accordingly in 
some cases been converted into pomp and parade, and in 
others gradually lost its interest and disappeared. But with 
these dangers on every side, the institution has still lived and 
flourished, and its observance is gradually spreading to every 
nation on the globe. 

We have already, once or twice, alluded to the manner in 
which our Savior selected and established the ceremonies of 
our religion, as evidence of the manner in which he regarded 
them, namely, as means, valuable only on account of their 
conduciveness to an end ; — and that end, too, a moral, not a 
ceremonial one. This consideration is important to us now, 
because it affects the degree of strictness with, which we ob- 
serve these institutions in their precise form. If the cere- 
monies had been valuable on their own account, if there had 
been any intrinsic efficacy in them, and if, in consequence of 
this, their details had been minutely prescribed, they should 
have been observed with the most precise and scrupulous ac- 
curacy. If, on the other hand, they are solely valuable on 
account of their moral expression, so to speak, then such 
precise and scrupulous accuracy is not necessary. There 
ought, certainly, to be no deviations without sufficient cause, 
in either case ; but a cause which would abundantly justify 
deviation in the latter, would not justify it in the former. 
If for instance a father, on leaving home, gives directions that 
a sick child should take a certain medicine at seven o'clock 
in the evening, to be followed two hours afterward with 
bathing, in water prepared in a prescribed way, it would 
be the duty of those loft in charge to be precise in 



THE LAST SUTTER. 



219 



The father's two directions. 



Principles of compliance. 



The effi- 



in the things 




THE DIRECTIONS. 



compliance, 
cacy is 

to be done, not in their 
moral effect, and con- 
sequently the things 
must be done exactly. 
On the other hand, 
suppose that he re- 
quested his family to 
assemble at a certain 
window, where they 
had often sat with him 
every Saturday even- 
ing, at seven o'clock, to 
sing a hymn which he 
had written and taught 
them. Here the object 

is of a different kind altogether. The directions are just as pre- 
cise, but the common sense of every family would make a distinc 
tion between the degree of exact precision necessary in com- 
pliance. If, on some evening, company should chance to be 
present and should protract their stay beyond the time as- 
signed, they would assemble to sing their hymn of remem- 
brance half an hour later. But company would not have 
led them to postpone administering the medicine beyond the 
appointed time. So if the room assigned for the meeting 
were, on some evening, cold and uncomfortable, they would 
not hesitate to assemble around the fire in another apartment 
instead of that ; or if the mother were sick and confined to 
her chamber, on one of the Saturday evenings during the 
father's absence, they would gather around her bed to sing 
their hymn. They would, however, by no means be led to 
deviate so easily from the precise directions in the other case. 
Thev would not perhaps be able to point out to one anothei 






220 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Ceremonies of false and true religions. Meaning of ' Do this.' 

the philosophical grounds of the distinction, but there would 
be an immediate and spontaneous perception of it, and its in- 
fluence upon their practice would be decisive. 

Now the ceremonies of all false religions are of the kind 
represented by the former of the above suppositions ; that is, 
rather of the former than the latter. Their value does not 
consist in their moral expression, but in their supposed intrin- 
sic efficacy. The Hindoo bathes in the Ganges, and tho 
Mussulman mutters his prayers, with a view to the efficacy 
of the ceremony itself. This efficacy is all imaginary, we 
•admit, — still it is with a view to it that he acts, and conse- 
quently he must be precise and punctilious as to forms. True 
religion makes use of outward rites for a different purpose ; 
it is in their meaning, and in the feelings of the heart with 
which they are performed that all their power resides, and 
we are consequently, in our observance of them, held to far 
less punctilious exactness as to forms. The vague and gen- 
eral terms in which these rites were instituted show, as we 
have already once or twice remarked, that this is the view 
which our Savior took of them. " Do this in remembrance 
of me." What is meant by doing this ? What is this, 
precisely ? How much is included in it ? Does it mean, 
Eat and drink, in remembrance of me, or Eat bread and 
drink tame, or Eat bread and drink ivine, together, or Eat 
bread and drink wine together after a supper ? I might 
go on thus indefinitely, adding circumstance after circum- 
stance, and inquire how many of all are meant to be included 
in the phrase "Do this." The general practice of Chris- 
tians has decided to stop at the third of the above steps, that 
is, Doing this, means Eat bread and drink wine, together, 
in remembrance of me ; but they would probably find it diffi- 
cult to show why they imitate the Savior's example in re- 
spect to the nature of the food, and to partaking of it in an 
assembly of Christians, and not in the many other circum- 



THE LAST SUPPER. 221 



Circumstances excluded. Principles. - Moral effect to be secured. 

stances which were a part of the transaction then, but are 
not so now. It was in the night, — females were excluded, — 
there was a supper before the ceremony, — and this supper 
was an annual festival. By common consent we exclude all 
these circumstances, in interpreting the phrase "Do this." 
I have said it would be difficult to show why we go just so 
far as we do, and no farther, in interpreting the language : I 
mean it would be difficult to find grounds for precisely the 
selection which has by common consent been made, in any 
thing which was actually said and done on the occasion. 
But by taking the views of the nature and design of religious 
rites which are presented above, the case is clear. The moral 
meaning and the moral influeiice of the ceremony being all 
that are essential, we are regulated by them, in regard to the 
degree of precision with which we follow the example set us. 
So far as is convenient, and only so far, we conform in re- 
spect to the food ; so as not unnecessarily to vary from the 
original circumstances. We come together to celebrate the 
ordinance ; for the assembling of Christians for the purpose, 
is a circumstance which contributes to the moral effect. We 
admit females, for the same reason. We do not insist on its 
being after a supper, nor at an annual festival, nor in the 
night, nor in an upper chamber, for all these, though doubt- 
less they were the circumstances under which the institution 
was established, have no share in the production of the effect. 
The whole Christian world most evidently takes this view of 
the ordinance, in practice ; and our Savior would undoubt- 
edly have been more precise and specific in his directions, if 
he had intended that we should take any other view. 

I have dwelt, perhaps, longer on this subject than many 
readers will think necessary, because it is one, they will say, 
on which there is no dispute. This is the very reason why I 
have made it the occasion of presenting what, it seems to me 
is the true view of the ceremonial aspects of Christianity 



222 THE CORNER-STONE. 



No dispute on this subject. Principles universally applicable. Formalists. 

The principles, which appear clear and plain here, because 
the mind can look at them uninfluenced by any bias, are uni- 
versally applicable, and it is of immense consequence that 
every mind which is shaping its views of religious truth 
should entertain right views here. There are formalists in 
all denominations of Christians, and perhaps quite as many in 
those which, in theory, are most decided in their rejection of 
forms. As society advances, and as new denominations arise, 
new religious customs gradually grow up, established first by 
a few leading Christians, and acquiring, in process of years, 
a very strong ascendency over the mind. There is no harm 
in this, if it is always borne in mind, that these are all means, 
not ends, and that moral effect on the heart and life is the 
only object which is ultimately valuable. There is a great 
tendency in the human mind to forget this, and to substitute 
the sign for the thing signified, — to rest upon the mere form, 
— and to attach that importance to a precise compliance with 
the circumstances of its original institution, which belongs 
only to the moral power which it should exert over the heart. 
By feeling and acting thus, we leave the spirit of Christian 
ity, and approach toward the practices and feelings of pagan 
superstition, where form is all, and spirituality nothing. We 
go to different lengths in this approximation toward pagan- 
ism ; and in some cases the whole journey is made, and the 
professing Christian, in the frigid formality of his observances, 
seems to come out almost entirely upon the pagan ground. 
The reader will, very probably, charge such a fault, however, 
upon other denominations, not upon his own ; but there is 
unfortunately no monopoly of this sin. Where it would be 
perhaps least expected, it sometimes most decidedly appears. 
Many a congregationalist attends his private meeting, or stands 
up to hear an extemporaneous prayer with as much of the 
spirit of the formalist as ever a Catholic felt when counting 
his beads, or burning candles before the picture of the Virgin. 



THE LAST SLTPER. 223 



No denomination free. Liberality. Difference of opinion unavoidable. 

Substituting the forms for the spirit of Christianity, is one of 
the inveterate and universal habits of the human soul ; — in- 
terwoven with all its feelings, and as difficult to be eradicated 
as any one. Its action is less apparent in those denomina- 
tions whose modes of government and of worship are not 
precisely arranged, but it is not less real ; — and how much 
less common it is, is perhaps more doubtful than is generally 
supposed. 

Understand then, Christian, what is the true nature and 
design of a religious ceremony, — whether it was instituted 
by Christ, or one which has gradually grown up as a relig- 
ous custom, in the denomination with which you are con- 
nected. Consider well that its whole value, and its whole 
power, consist in its spiritual effect on the heart and con- 
science. See that you secure this spiritual effect, and never 
surrender your heart to the deadening influence of scrupulous 
attachment to mere external ceremony. 

There is one error on this subject into which we are very 
likely to fall, and of which we are more especially in danger, 
in proportion as we more fully adopt the views above pre- 
sented. The danger is this, that we shall pertinaciously in- 
sist that other Christians, and other denominations particu- 
larly, shall come precisely to our standard in regard to this 
subject. Now, since our Savior left his directions so general, 
there must inevitably be a difference of opinion among Chris- 
tians, in regard to the precision with which we must imitate 
the circumstances of the first establishment of these cere- 
monies ; in fact, it is not improbable that the different cir- 
cumstances and relations of society render some variety de- 
sirable. Now, each body of Christians is bound to act 
according to its own ideas of the Savior's wishes, and the rest 
ought not to complain. Suppose, for example, a Christian 
church were to come to the conclusion that they ought to 
make use of the wine of Palestine for the ordinance of the 



224 THE CORNEP.-STONE 



Caao supposed. Wine of Palestine. Each church not judge for itself. 

Lord's supper. They are honest in this opinion, we will sup 
pose, and at a considerable expense send to Palestine and 
procure a supply, and always make use of it at their com- 
munion seasons. We suppose them to be mistaken, — yet 
still they are honest, and really believe that the Savior in- 
tended that they should comply, in this particular, with his 
example. They gather therefore quietly by themselves, and 
celebrate the supper according to their own views of the 
requisition of their Lord. Of course, it must be their opinion 
that other churches are not fully complying with the com- 
mand, and they must say so ; and though they may admit that 
the members of other churches are sincere and devoted Chris- 
tians, they can not consider them as performing aright their 
official duty. Now what, most plainly, is the duty of other 
churches in such a case ? Why, to leave these their brethren 
unmolested and in peace at their own communion table, to 
comply with the directions of their Lord according to their 
own understanding of them ; to do this pleasantly and good- 
humoredly, too, without any taunts and reproaches about 
their uncharitableness, and censoriousncss, and closeness of 
communion. 

In the same manner, if one denomination supposes some 
circumstances in the mode of ordaining pastors, or admitting 
members to the churches, or some views of Christian duty, to 
be essential, while they are not so regarded by others, what 
ought the others to do ? Why, simply to allow these breth- 
ren to pursue their own course, unmolested and in peace. 
They are bound to act according to their own views of the 
wishes of the Savior. If they do honestly consider that cer- 
tain conditions with which you have not complied, are essen- 
tial to a proper celebration of the Lord's supper, they can not 
consistently, however much they may esteem your piety, ad- 
mit you to their table until you have complied with them, 
You ought not then, in such a case, to stand knocking at the 



THE LAST SUPPER. 225 



Modes of ordination. Admission to the church. True intolerance, 

door and demanding entrance ; — you ought to go quietly and 
spread a table for yourselves. They do not prevent it. 
They simply say, our views and yours differ as to what 
in this point is essential ; — we must be governed by our 
convictions, — therefore in this point, and in this only, we 
must separate. 

In the same manner, if a class of Christians think, that a 
certain mode of ordination is the only valid one, or that cer- 
tain views of religious truth are essential, they can not of 
course include those who differ from them in these respects 
in the circle of official ministerial intercourse. There is no 
bigotry or intolerance in this. There is certainly no bigotry 
or intolerance in a man's doing what he himself thinks is 
right, if he does not molest his neighbors, or prevent, by other 
means than moral ones, their doing what they think right. 
!N*or is there any, in a church's confining its official measures 
strictly to the field which is marked out by its views of of- 
ficial duty. The world is wide enough for the other churches 
to act freely according to their ideas. JSTo ; the intolerance 
and bigotry is all on the other side. It is not in the quiet 
firmness with which a church guards its doors according to 
its own conscientious ideas of duty, but it is in the loud vocif- 
erations of the crowd which has assembled without, demand- 
ing admittance as a right. If there was but one communion 
table, and but one pulpit in the world, the majority in pos- 
session should indeed be careful v/hom they excluded ; and 
if the disciples of Christ were, or ought to be, united into one 
great denomination, they who should obtain the control of 
its measures, would rest under a most fearful responsibility. 
But this the Savior undoubtedly never intended. He made 
no arrangement for such an organization, and did not com- 
mand it. In carrying out his principles, and in extending 
them throughout the globe, Christians unite themselves in 
companies, and link themselves together by ties, just as they 



226 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Practical application, Weak and sickly Christians. Directions. 

please ; and each band must be governed by its own views 
of truth and duty, and ought to be left without molestation 
by the rest. We may endeavor to alter, by argument, the 
views themselves, but we must not complain that the con- 
duct is governed by them, as long as they are really enter- 
tained ; nor load with opprobrious epithets those whose view T s 
of church policy compel them to deny our regular official 
connection with their organization. Their denial can do 
us no harm, if they leave us to act unmolested in our own 
communion, and we ought to leave them to act unmolested 
in theirs. 

The celebration of the Lord's supper is particularly de- 
scribed once more in the lN"ew Testament, namely, in the 
epistle to the Corinthians. Paul there tells his readers that 
there were a great many iveak and sickly Christians in their 
church, and attributes their condition to their negligence in 
respect to this ordinance. There are weak and sickly Chris- 
tians everywhere, and the communion service, if it was 
properly understood, would be the most effectual means of 
restoring them to health. In bringing this chapter to a con- 
clusion, then, it may be well to call the attention of the reader 
a little to this point. How shall we celebrate the Lord's 
supper? How shall we secure the spiritual effect of it, ac- 
cording to the views presented in the preceding pages ? 

Consider what the ceremony means. It is intended to 
bring to our minds the death of Christ, — to remind us of his 
blood flowing, and his body pierced for us, — " for the remis- 
sion of sins," as is expressly stated. In order to eat the bread 
then, and drink the cup, worthily, this must be in mind ; and 
it is the moral and spiritual effect of this truth upon the 
heart, which is to be chiefly sought for when we come around 
the table of the Lord. 

" It is the night of the preparatory lecture," says one of 



THE LAST SUPPER. 227 



The sickly Christian. Preparatory lecture. Communion day. 

the weak, sickly Christians pointed at by Paul, in the passage 
above quoted. " Let me see, — shall I go ?" 

The speaker has been all day engaged in the world, and 
his heart is still full of its interests and cares. On the other 
hand, there is the habit of going to the preparatory lecture. 
After a brief mental conflict the habit, or, as it perhaps 
should be called, the attachment to form, conquers, though 
he fancies that the victory is gained by Christian principle. 
He walks to the meeting at the appointed time, either think- 
ing by the way of his worldly plans, or else indulging a feeling 
of self-complacence at the thought of the superior interest 
which he feels in religious duty, when he sees how few of 
his brethren are to be there. 

He listens to the discourse, much as he would listen to any 
other sermon, and applies the general considerations it pre- 
sents, with the same fidelity, to his own case, that this class 
of Christians usually exemplify. In his way home he may 
make a remark or two to others who accompany him, about 
the discourse, or the smallness of the number who were pres- 
ent ; and then the world, even if it was actually excluded 
while he was in the house of God, which is more than doubt- 
ful, presses in upon him again. The approaching solemnity 
passes from his mind, until, on the next Sabbath, when he is 
walking up the aisle to his pew, his eye falls upon the plate 
arranged for the ordinance, and he says to himself, " Ah ! 
the communion is to be administered to-day." 

During the administration of the ordinance he endeavors 
to listen to the pastor's remarks, but he finds it somewhat 
difficult to attend to them. Some few very vague and gen- 
eral religious impressions pass through his mind, and when 
the cup is handed to him, he looks serious and takes his 
portion with a very reverential air ; and something like a 
general supplication for forgiveness, and for greater measures 
of holiness, pass through his mind. There is something like 



228 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Feeling3 at the communion table. Its true design. Its proper effects. 

a slight feeling of impatience at the delay while the elements 
are passing to the others. And yet it is not impatience, 
exactly, — but he has no employment for his thoughts, and 
he feels a little satisfaction when the ceremony is over. He 
walks home at last, feeling that he has been discharging a 
duty, which, though it was not an unpleasant one certainly, 
he is pleased to think is done. 

The communion service to such an one is a dead letter , 
a lifeless, heartless, useless form ; and thousands of Christians 
everywhere thus pervert the ordinance which God designed 
to be perhaps one of the most efficacious means of grace that 
the Christian is permitted to enjoy. 

Now in order to clearly understand the mode in which 
this ordinance ought to be celebrated, so as to secure its 
spiritual blessings, let the reader call to mind what was said 
in the close of the last chapter, respecting the means by 
which the soul is to come to Christ in faith, so as to secure 
forgiveness for the past, and spiritual strength for the future, 
through a union with him. The great design of the Lord's 
supper is simply to renew this union. When we first re- 
pent of sin, and return to duty, we come to the Savior, and seek 
such a connection with him as that our sins may be pardoned 
through his sufferings and death, and that we may have 
strength furnished us through him, to go on our way safely 
in future. If this change were entire and complete, — if it 
overturned forever the dominion of sin, and established the 
perpetual and perfect reign of holiness, we should perhaps 
never have occasion to repeat the transaction, and our celebra- 
tion of the supper would be simply an act of grateful remem- 
brance, — a memorial merely of the Savior's love. But it is 
not so. Sin continues its hold. It is always ready to rise to 
re-assert successfully its power, and the communion season 
returns to us from time to time, to give us an opportunity 
of breaking free again and again, and seeking by the moral 






THE LAST SUPPER. 229 



Examination. Confession. Reunion. . Partaking unworthily. 

power of the sufferings and death which we celebrate, new 
relief for the conscience, new pardon for sin, new spiritual 
life, new peace and higher happiness. Whenever therefore 
it returns, it should bring us to a most thorough and effectual 
investigation of our standing and progress as disciples of the 
Savior. It is the time of periodical settlement between our 
souls and God, when the account should be most carefully 
examined, and all sins brought out fully to view ; every 
secret hold which the world has upon us should be dis- 
covered and broken, and thus the soul should be brought 
into a state to give itself away anew and without reserve to 
its Master's work. The world and its cares are to be left 
behind, all past sins fully examined and fully acknowledged, 
and the responsibility for them to be brought and laid upon 
him w T ho is mighty to save. Peace would then return. The 
collected anxieties and troubles of conscience would all dis- 
appear. Habits of sin beginning to be formed would be 
broken up, and the soul refreshed and restored, and reunited 
to its Savior, would have made, at each successive return 
of the solemn ceremony, a decided advance in holiness and 
happiness. 
' "But how different is it often in fact. We come to the 
scene of our Master's sufferings and death, and bring the 
world all with us. One comes with his quarrels, another 
with his business ; this brother leads some daring sin in by 
the hand, and that one is cold and hard in heart, looking on 
with stupid indifference at the solemn symbols. Of one 
thing, however, we may be sure. The design of this ordi- 
nance is very clear, and God has indicated very plainly what 
are the feelings with which he wishes us to observe it ; and 
he has left, in the most decisive language, his warning of the 
danger of our thus coming and profaning what he has made 
sacred. The institution was designed to have a deep mean- 
ing, and to produce a powerful effect. By coming without 



230 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Guilt and consequences of it. Lukewarm Christiana. 



examination, and without preparation of heart, and without 
a desire for the spiritual blessings which it is designed to pro- 
cure, we are doing all that we can to degrade what God has 
elevated, — to destroy its character and power and spiritual 
influence, — and to bring it to contempt. 

I need not repeat the language in which God has threat- 
ened those who eat and drink unworthily. It would be 
plain if such language had not been used, that God must 
consider the intrusion of worldliness and sin into the places 
which he has endeavored to make sacred, as an offense of the 
highest character. The prosperity of his kingdom in this 
world depends more upon the purity. of his church, and the 
elevation of its standard of piety, than upon any thing else ; 
and throughout the whole of the New Testament no design 
is more apparent, or more earnestly pursued, than that of 
separating his friends by a clear line of demarkation, from his 
enemies, and keeping his church pure. The worldly Chris- 
tians, or rather the worldly professors of religion, crowd 
around this line, and obliterate all its distinctness. They 
allure many a sincere follower to it, who would otherwise 
keep away ; and thus they are thwarting, most directly and 
most effectually, the progress of the Savior's kingdom. 

But what shall we do, perhaps some one may ask, if we 
find, when the time of the communion service arrives, that 
our hearts are not in the right state, — shall we remain away ? 
This question is one very difficult to answer. What it is 
best for one to do who is a professing Christian, and yet will 
not give up the world and sin, when the time arrives for 
renewing the solemn consecration of himself to his Maker's 
service, is hard to say. It is a sad alternative, if one is fixed 
upon it, — either to disobey Christ's command altogether, or 
comply with it hypocritically. One thing however is cer- 
tain, that if we have any adequate ideas of our obligations 
and our accountability, — if we feel at all what it is to go 



THE LAST SUPPER. 231 



The sad alternative. The Savior's farewell hymn. 



into the very presence of the Savior, and among his best 
friends, — a secret enemy ; if, in a word, we could see the 
solemn ceremony which he instituted, as he sees it, we should 
be afraid to go and be the Judas there. 

" And when they had sung an hymn they went out into 
the Mount of Olives." The Savior and his disciples stood 
around their table and sang an hymn. It was the Redeem- 
er's last public act, — his final farewell. He had presided 
over many an assembly, guiding their devotions or explaining 
to them the principles of religion. Sometimes the thronging 
multitudes had gathered around him on the sea-shore ; some- 
times they had crowded into a private dwelling, and some- 
times he sat in the synagogue, and explained the law to the 
congregation assembled there. But the last moment had 
now come ; he was presiding in the last assembly, which, by 
his mortal powers, he should ever address ; and when the 
hour for separation came, the last tones in which his voice 
uttered itself, were heard in song. 

What could have been their hymn ? Its sentiments and 
feelings, they who can appreciate the occasion may perhaps 
conceive, but what were its words ? Beloved disciple, why 
didst thou not record them ? They should have been sung 
in every natien, and language and clime. We would have 
fixed them in our hearts, and taught them to our children, 
and whenever we came together to commemorate our Re- 
deemer's sufferings, we would never have separated without 
singing his parting hymn. 



232 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Dramatic interest of the narrative of the crucifixion. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE CMCIFIERS. 

"The Lord looketh on the heart." 
* 

A.N instance of as high dramatic beauty and interest as thi 
Bible furnishes, is to be found in the arrangement of the cir- 
cumstances connected with the great final scene which it 
portrays. Fiction could not have arranged these circum- 
stances with more admirable adaptation to the production of 
effect, and yet nature and truth had never more complete, 
or more evident control. Perhaps the most remarkable fea- 
ture of the picture, is the number of distinct and strongly 
marked characters which appear as actors. Here is religion 
in all the variety of its forms. Hostility to God sends its 
representatives in all the leading shapes which it ever as- 
sumes, to exhibit themselves conspicuously here, in the view 
of all the world. 

This was intended for our instruction. Characters por- 
trayed in the New Testament are portrayed for the purpose 
of throwing light upon duty, or upon the nature and tenden- 
cies of sin ; but we shield ourselves from the proper influence 
of this example of wickedness, on account of the enormity of 
the consequences which resulted from it. No man thinks 
of comparing himself with Pontius Pilate ; and Christians, 
though they often quote the example of Peter, seldom think 
that they have been guilty of his sin. Thus the enormity of 
the crime, to which sin in this case led, has invested the 



niE CRUC1FIERS. 233 



Its moral effect often lost. Three stages of guilt. 



whole transaction with such a character, as in the view of 
men to place it entirely beyond the region of reproof and 
warning to them. One great design, however, unquestiona- 
bly, which Jehovah had in view, in allowing this scene to be 
enacted, was that the whole human family might see what dis- 
strous effects would be produced, in peculiar circumstances, 
by very common sins. We evade the intended effect alto- 
gether, by setting the whole transaction aside ; — disconnect- 
ing it from all ordinary exhibitions of human nature, on ac- 
count of the extraordinariness of the effects, which resulted 
when we ought to unite it with them, on account of the 
commonness of the cause which produced them ; and thus, 
though there are unquestionably thousands even in the Chris- 
tian church, and in fair standing, who are habitually govern- 
ed by the principles of Judas Iscariot, there is not one in the 
Christian world, so degraded and so abandoned, that he 
would not resent being called by his name. 

This is owing to wrong ideas of the nature of guilt, as it is 
recognized by Cxod's law ; and we shall here devote a few 
paragraphs to this subject, both because it is of general im- 
portance to the young Christian to have clear ideas respecting 
it, and because a right understanding of it is absolutely essen- 
tial to enable us to receive the proper moral lessons taught 
us by the narrative of the crucifixion of the Savior. 

Guilt, then, as it generally exhibits itself in this world, 
exists in three stages, proceeding regularly from the first to 
its consummation in the last. These stages are more or less 
distinctly marked in all the various cases which occur. We 
may however take as a convenient instance for illustration, 
the sin of Joseph's brethren in selling him as a slave. Let 
us look a few moments at this case. 

The first stage of their guilt consists in the indulgence of 
envious and malignant feelings. It is said il they hated 
him, and could not speak peaceably unto him," and when he 



234 THE CORNER-STONE. 



First stage ; guilty feeling. Second stage ; guilty intentions. 

/ innocently told them his dream, they said, " * shalt thou in- 
deed reign over us V and they hated him yet the more for his 
words." Here now is guilt, hut it is the guilt of feeling, not 
of conduct. Here are no overt acts of violence or of unkind- 
ness, — not even any plans or determinations to commit such 
acts. It is the heart alone which has gone astray. They 
are filled with feelings of envy and hatred toward their 
brother ; and though, as is very often the case at the present 
day when a heart is filled with hateful passions, the brow 
might have been smooth, and the conduct right, and even 
though the tone of voice had been gentle and kind, and not 
a glance of the eye had betrayed the hidden anger, — still, on 
the principles of God's law, they had committed great sin. 
It was not the sin of action, nor of intention ; but of the 
heart. 

The second stage of their guilt consists in their plans and 

^^determinations. They began to form the design to do some 

violence to their brother. This stage, which it will be 

readily perceived is distinct from the other, and decidedly in 

advance of it, is described in the following words. 

" When they saw him coming they conspired against 
him to slay him. They said one to another, Behold this 
dreamer cometh. Come now, therefore, and let us slay him. 
and cast him into some pit, and we will say some evil beast 
hath devoured him, and we shall see what will become of 
his dreams !" 

This is plainly, as we have said, a distinct stage from the 
other, and in advance of it. A man may cherish revengeful 
and malignant thoughts, and yet never intend to carry them 
forward into action. There are a thousand considerations of 
"^—-policy which tend to restrain him. There is the voice of 
public opinion, the fear of punishment, the dread of remorse ; 
and while he hates his brother, and cordially wishes him in- 
jury, his hand may be held back by the thousand circum- 



THE CRUCIFIEUS 



235 



Third stage ; guilty action. 



stances of restraint, with which a kind Providence has hem- 
med him in. By and by, however, the rising, swelling flood 
of wicked emotion breaks its barriers. He prepares himself 
for the execution of deeds of iniquity. His mind passes from 
the mere indulgence of the wicked feeling itself, to the alto- 
gether different state, of deliberately intending to commit 
some open acts of sin. He has thus advanced one distinct 
step toward the consummation of guilt. 

Again, the third and last stage of this disease is the open 
act. This consummates the guilt, and seals the consequences. 
In this case, the guilty conspirators took their brother, and 
let him down into a deep pit in the wilderness, intending to 




^aar/rd'^/KMa'^ 



leave him m its dismal solitude to die of hunger and despair 
Avarice, however, pleaded for his life, and, as by selling him 
they could get twenty pieces of silver, they changed his des 



236 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Illustrations. Sudden acts. God's view of guilt. 



tiny from death to slavery. They sold him to a wandering 
tribe of half-savage strangers, and quietly saw him led away, 
they scarcely knew where, or for what ; though they could 
have expected nothing for the brother whom they had thus 
betrayed, but a life of suffering, and toil, and chains. 

Such are the three distinct stages of progress in guilt. 
And let it be understood that the distinction between these 
stages is not by any means peculiar to this case, nor even 
more striking here, than it usually is in fact. They all hap- 
pen to be distinctly noticed and described by the sacred 
writer, and it is this only which makes the example peculiarly 
suited to our purpose. But in all cases where open sin is 
perpetrated at all, it advances step by step in this way. 
First come the guilty feelings, burning in the heart, — and 
though restrained for a time, they soon acquire a strength 
which external influence can no longer control. Then comes 
the guilty intention, when the mind decides against con- 
science and duty, and prepares itself to go forth to sin ; and, 
finally, the open act of iniquity closes the scene. It is true, 
that in many cases these stages succeed each other with al- 
most instantaneous rapidity. A man receives a sudden and 
deep injury from his enemy ; — he grasps a glittering dagger 
and plunges it to his heart. All is over in a moment, but 
the sin, though instantaneous, is complicated, and a very 
slight degree of care in making the analysis, will enable any 
one to distinguish between the feelings, and the intention, 
and the action, which it clearly comprises. 

Now it is the first of these stages which the law of God 
chiefly regards ; for it is plain that it is this alone which is 
the true index of character. The rest depends, in far too 
great a degree on accidental circumstances, to be taken much 
into the account in estimating guilt. Whether Joseph's 
brethren, for example, would ever form any plan for doing 
the object of their hatred any actual injury, must evidently 



THE CRUCIFIERS. 237 



Difference between divine and human laws. 



have depended upon the occurrence of favorable opportu- 
nities of carrying such a plan into effect. In a Christian 
country, the circumstances of society would render such an act 
of iniquity as this impracticable ; and public opinion is in such a 
state as to operate as a most powerful, and in most cases, an 
effectual restraint against any such deeds of violence. And 
yet there are thousands of cases, doubtless, in every Christian 
country, where feelings exist between brother and brother, 
that are precisely similar to those which, in the case of 
Joseph, led to the commission of an atrocious crime. 

ISTow it is the almost universal practice in this world, to 
attach far too much relative importance to the ov^rt acts of 
sin, and too little to the state of heart from which those acts 
proceed. The cause of this is two-fold. First, men have 
very inadequate conceptions of the spirituality of God's law, 
in any respect ; and secondly, human laws necessarily relate 
almost exclusively to external acts, and public sentiment feels 
the influence and imbibes the spirit of these laws. 

Human laws, in fact, as we have already intimated in an- 
other place, aim at objects entirely different from that of the 
divine law. Their design is, not to distribute to every 
man the just recompense which he deserves, nor to purify the 
heart, and bring back the unhappy sinner to holiness and 
peace. Their object is simply to protect the community 
from the aggressions of evil men. Now a wicked feeling 
merely, does, comparatively, no immediate injury to society ; 
and as protection is the sole aim of law and government 
among men, there are no enactments against wicked feelings, 
or even against wicked intentions. Human codes give up 
this ground altogether ; and taking their stand upon the 
nearest limit of the open act, they say to human passions, 
Hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther. It is here alone 
that human law arms itself with its penalties, and this is 
the whole field of its conflict with the wickedness of man. 



238 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Consequences no criterion of guilt. The murderer. 

The law of God has, however, a very different object. Its 
design is not merely to repress the outbreaking of sin, so as 
to protect men from its injuries, — but to remove and eradi- 
cate forever the guilty spirit from his heart. It seeks not to 
rest the consequences, but to destroy the cause. Its design 
is to ascertain the true character, to deal with every one as 
his true character deserves, and, if possible, to bring the 
wandering and miserable sinner back to duty and to happi- 
ness. Human laws say therefore to man, Take care that you 
never carry your sins so far as to encroach upon your neigh- 
bor's rights, — we must secure protection. The law of God 
says to him, You are forbidden to sin at all. The one de- 
nounces punishments in proportion to the injury which is 
done, — the other regulates its penalties by the exact meas- 
ure of the secret guilt incurred. A human government 
seizes a man who has plunged his knife into his neighbor's 
bosom ; but if a skillful physician interposing can stop the 
flowing blood, allay the rising fever, and save the endangered 
life, it immediately relaxes its grasp, and says in spirit, " G<? 
free from the charge of murder ; the physician who arrested 
the injury has saved your life. We look only at conse- 
quences." But the divine government will arrest the crimi- 
nal as he endeavors to move away, and say to him, " Stop, 
you are a murderer. God looks not at the consequences, but 
at the guilt. Whoso hateth his brother is a murderer." 

For these, and perhaps other reasons, human law, and con- 
sequently to a great extent, public sentiment, has condemned, 
almost exclusively, in this world, the open acts of wicked- 
ness ; and thus men are and always have been prone to con- 
sider it as of very little consequence, so long as their outward 
conduct is fair, what corrupt desires, or raging passions pos- 
sess their hearts. If the fires do not flash out to view, they 
care little how luridly they burn within. But God sees not 
as man sees. He regards the heart as the true seat of virtue 






THE CllL'CaTEHS. 239 



The feelings of the heart and external conduct. The lady. The rude hoy. 



and of vice — and the external conduct, which, we* notice so 
attentively, he almost passes by ; his eye looks through all 
these exterior coverings, and penetrating to the inmost soul, 
he comes to a contest with iniquity in the very heart and 
center of its reign. 

Hoav obvious and unquestionable is the principle that the 
external conduct is regulated quite as much by the circum- 
stances in which one is placed, as by the true character ; and 
that therefore external conduct is no safe criterion of charac- 
ter. A thousand illustrations of this principle might be 
drawn from among the most common occurrences of life. A 
lady of elegance and refinement, moving in high rank in so- 
ciety, surrounded by circumstances which most effectually 
forbid the open exhibition of the evil passions of the heart by 
any of the rough forms in which they often show themselves, 
cherishes, we will suppose, a feeling of envy or jealousy, 
which soon ripens into anger, against some one of her ac- 
quaintance ; and in peculiar circumstances, it is possible that 
she may be almost continually under the influence of these 
feelings, so that she lies down at night, and rises in the morn- 
ing, with these bad passions rankling in her bosom. But in 
the presence of the object of her displeasure, and surrounded 
by society, how possible is it for all external indication of her 
feelings to be restrained. Her brow is smooth, her eye is 
mild, her tone is gentle ; — and so completely have the cir- 
cumstances in which Providence has placed her, trained her 
to the necessity and to the habit of civility, that she dares not 
transgress. A rude and savage boy, with the same passions, 
and in precisely the same state of heart, not being controlled 
by such circumstances of restraint, displays his passions by 
open malediction, or by clubs and stones. ]N*ow how differ- 
ent are the views which the world takes of such cases as 
these. And I am far from saying that that they must neces- 
sarily be equal in guilt. The passions which are the same 



£40 THE COR.NER-STONE. 



Application of these principles. 



r u 



in kind, fn both, may differ in degree. What I wish to say, 
is, that God looks at the passions reigning in the heart, and 
not at the open exhibitions of them, which the circumstances 
of the individual may lead him to make. This is what is 
meant by the passage, " Whoso hateth his brother is a mur- 
erer." It is so with all other sins. , A man's character for 
honesty does not, in the eye of God, depend upon his not 
stealing, but upon his being, in heart, cordially willing and 
desirous that all around him should enjoy fully their rights ; his 
character for benevolence, not upon his deeds of charity, but 
upon his heartfelt desires that all connected with him should 
be happy ; — his character for truth, not upon his refraining 
from directly falsifying his word, but upon his being sincere 
and honest in heart. Mankind do not consider these distinc- 
tions. It happens, consequently, that a very large part of the 
virtue of this world is the virtue of circumstances, not of 
character ; that is, it is no virtue at all ; and yet it is 
esteemed and applauded by men as if it originated in the 
loftiest moral principle. 



But the reader may perhaps inquire what connection these 
remarks have with the crucifixion of the Savior, — the subject 
announced at the commencement of this chapter. They 
have this to do with it. The principles which we have been 
considering show us that though the crucifixion, as an event, 
— a transaction, may have been extraordinary and dreadful 
in the extreme, it does not thence follow that as sin it was 
very extraordinary. Certain sinful propensities and passions 
led in that case to consequences which can not in ordinary 
cases flow from them. But precisely the same principles and 
passions may reign in the heart, and load it with an equal 
burden of guilt, though the circumstances in which the actor 
is placed may be such as entirely to modify, or even effect- 
ually to restrain the natural and proper results. If we ' 
wish then to derive the intended advantage from this portion 



THE CRUCIFIERS. 241 



The characters of the crucifiers. Their characters common. Judas Iscariot. 

of Scripture history, we must consider these things, — we 
must make these discriminations between the sin itself and 
the particular forms in which, from the peculiar circum- 
stances of the case, it then assumed. "We must look at the 
characters of the actors, rather than their deeds ; for in char- 
acter, we may ourselves be like those actors, though from the 
entirely different circumstances in which we are placed, we 
have not, and we never can have the opportunity to commit 
the crimes that they perpetrated. I shall endeavor, therefore, 
as I go on to the examination of the story, to bring to view as 
clearly as possible the characters of those concerned in it : with 
particular reference, too, to the aspects which similar charac- 
ters would assume at the present day. If I am not very 
greatly deceived, Pontius Pilate and Judas Iscariot, and even 
the Roman soldiers, have far more imitators and followers 
than is generally supposed, — and that, too, within the very 
pale of the Christian church. 

We left the Savior, at the close of the last chapter, going 
out late at night with his disciples, from the place where 
they had held their last assembly. They passed out of the 
gate, and went down the hill and across the rivulet which 
flowed through the valley, and thence ascended the Mount 
of Olives on the other side. One however was absent. 

Judas Iscariot, it will be recollected, had left the assembly 
some time before. He had his arrangements to mature for 
delivering the Savior to the soldiers appointed to make him 
prisoner. It seems that the leading priests had been desirous 
of making Jesus a prisoner, for the purpose of bringing him 
to trial, but they did not dare to do it openly, for fear of an 
uproar among the people ; their only other plan, therefore, 
was to find out his private retreats, and send an armed band 
for him at some time when he was alone with his friends. 
This plan it was difficult to execute, for Jesus generally 

L 



242 THE CORNER-STONE. 

His probable character and plans. Trust conferred upon him. 

withdrew himself very privately, when his work was done, 
and they did not know how to find him. Judas relieved 
them of the difficulty. 

But who was Judas ? let us look a little at his history and 
character. 

There seems to be no evidence against the supposition that 
he was just such a man as any other of those worldly profes- 
sors of religion, which are to be found by thousands in the 
Christian church at the present day. It is plain that he was 
not that abandoned and hardened reprobate which he^is 
very generally supposed to have been : if so, he would not 
have hung himself when he found what were the conse- 
quences of his crime. It does not seem to be at all improb- 
able, that when he joined the Savior's cause he thought he 
was sincere. A man would not be likely to connect himself 
with such a cause for the express purpose of obtaining money. 
This is possible, but certainly very improbable. It seems far 
more reasonable to suppose that he became a professed dis- 
ciple, as thousands do at the present day, with his heart un- 
changed and not aware of his own true character. 

They who have a strong love for the world, have often no 
uncommon share of worldly wisdom ; or, at least, those who 
love money generally know well how to take care of it ; and 
Judas, like many others since his day, was appointed to a 
trust which proved a very dangerous one to him. In fact, 
the very love for such a trust which fitted him to discharge 
the duties of it successfully, made those duties very danger- 
ous to him. It is altogether probable that love of money ac- 
quired its ascendency over him very gradually. It almost 
always does. Very few persons have the hardihood to unite 
themselves with the Christian church deliberately with the 
design of making their connection with it a mere source of 
profit ; but very many who join it professedly with other de- 
signs do, in fact, gradually turn their connection with it to 



THE CHUCIFIEHS. 243 



His present followers. The church. 

this purpose. They are deceived at first about the sincerity 
of their motives ; they feel some sort of interest in religion, 
which interest they mistake for genuine piety ; "but as it is 
without foundation it soon disappears, the world gradually 
regains its hold, and as it comes back and fixes its reign, it 
leads the man to avail himself of every advantage which he 
can derive from his new position, to increase his own earthly 
stores. At first he does this without particular injury to the 
cause which he has espoused, but soon the claims of interest 
and of his Master's service come into slight collision. The 
latter yields, though he is so blinded that he is not aware of 
it. The cases become more frequent and more decided ; but 
the progress of blindness goes on as fast as the progress of 
sin, so that he continues undisturbed, though he is as really 
betraying the cause of his Master, as if he were actually guid- 
ing an armed band to his private retreat. 

There is no end to the cases which might be stated in ex- 
emplification of this. We will suppose one or two. A ques- 
tion arises in a certain town about the erection of a place of 
public worship. The situation of the building will affect the 
value of the property in its vicinity, and a certain wealthy 
professor of religion, with reference solely to this effect upon 
his property, is determined that the building shall be in one 
place, while the rest of the church are determined it shall be 
in another. To make the case simple, we will suppose that 
the majority are guided by good principles in their selection, 
that they consult the best interests of the Savior's cause in 
the decision that they have made, and consequently that the 
fault is on the side of the single wealthy man. Such is how- 
ever his influence that he can throw embarrassment and in- 
superable difficulty in the way of the rest. He divides the 
Savior's friends, alienates one from another, and is thus the 
instrument of destroying the peace of the church, and extin- 
guishing the light of its piety. Years do not heal the injuries 



244 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Various ways of betraying Christ's cause. The worldly pastor. 

which he inflicts upon the Savior's cause. He betrays it, 
and he betrays it for money, — just as truly as if he had been 
directly bribed by thirty pieces of silver to deliver up his 
Lord. In fact he does even a greater injury than that ; and 
it is by no means certain which will at last be found to have 
incurred the heaviest doom, he who sold the Savior's life to 
Roman soldiers, or he who, from the same motive, turns 
traitor to the church, and breaks down its barriers against 
the admission of spiritual foes. The latter certainly betrays 
a more valued object, and delivers it, too, to more dreadful 
foes ; for Jesus Christ has given most abundant proof that he 
loves the church far more than his own personal safety, and 
that he fears discord and hatred and spiritual death, far 
more than the insults and injuries of Roman soldiers, or even 
than the unutterable sufferings of the cross. 

But let us take another case. It is that of a worldly 
pastor, who consents to receive in charge a branch of his 
Master's church, when his motive is his pay. He neglects 
his appropriate work, and devotes his time and his attention, 
and gives all his heart, to the work of increasing his stores. 
He does it privately and silently, but the world around him 
soon understand it. They are quick to perceive hypocrisy, 
and to detect the true character of worldliness, however 
dexterously it may clothe itself in the garb of piety. The 
meney-getting disciple thinks, perhaps, that all is going on 
well. He performs his duties with punctilious formality, but 
his heart is not in the work, and the souls within his 
influence are only chilled by the coldness of the form. In a 
word, the cause committed to him is betrayed, — it is betrayed, 
too, for money ; and if it is true that in the sight of God, the 
heart, and not the particular acts by which the heart may 
manifest itself, is the criterion of character, he must expect 
to stand with Judas when the time of reckoning shall come. 

How many times has a man of business, while professing 



the cnuciFiERS. 245 



Tlie merchant. The probable intentions of Judas. Judas's excuses. 

to love the Savior, betrayed bis Master's cause by violating 
its principles, and thus brought open disgrace upon it, in 
the eyes of the world. He deals in commodities which are 
destructive to the souls and bodies of men, or he acts on 
principles which are entirely inconsistent with Christian 
character. Unjust, oppressive, and miserly, he disgraces the 
name which he has hypocritically assumed. But he accom- 
plishes his object ; — he acquires the money for which he is 
willing to sell his Master. Even Judas was paid. He 
secures also his other object, that of being called a Christian. 
He is however a betrayer. For the mass of mankind bring 
down their conceptions of religion to the rank of the lowest 
pretender to it whom they can find ; so that he who serves 
the world and sin, while he pretends to be a Christian, does 
not generally disgrace himself, he degrades Christianity. 
Still he accomplishes his objects. He is called a Christian, 
and makes his money ; but he must rank among the traitors 
at last. 

Judas had no idea, probably, that any very serious con- 
sequences would have resulted from what he was about to do. 
He might have known, indeed, had he thought about it, but 
he probably thought of little but his thirty pieces of silver. 
If he did reflect at all, it was probably only to quiet himself 
with the excuses, which, in similar circumstances, men 
always make ; such as that it was his duty to increase his 
property by all honest means, — that there could be no great 
harm in merely introducing the soldiers to the Savior — that 
if he did not give them the information they desired, some- 
body else certainly would. All the ordinary excuses would 
have applied perfectly here. 

It is highly probable therefore that Judas, notwithstanding 
the pre-eminence in sin which is generally assigned to him, 
will appear at the great day only as an ordinary type and 
example of an immense class of offenders. 



246 THE CORNER-STONE. 

The midnight scene. Jerusalem. The garden. The coming forth of the soldiers. 

However this might be, the wretched man went at mid- 
night to the place of rendezvous ; and while he and the sol- 
diers who were to accompany him, were receiving their direc- 
tions and forming their plans in the city, the Savior was bend 
ing under the burden of those intolerable but mysterious suf- 
ferings, which have thrown an eternal gloom over the garden 
of Gethsemane. Upon what a scene the moon, which was 
always full at the time of the Jewish passover, must have 
looked down, at this sad hour. 

It is midnight ; the moon is high, and the streets of Jeru- 
salem are deserted and still, except when the footsteps of 
some solitary passenger re-echo a moment upon the ear, and 
then die away. Beyond the walls, even deeper silence and 
solitude reign ; every bird is at its rest, and in the still 
night air, we can hear the brook murmuring through the 
valley. In the garden on the other side too, the consecrated 
place of prayer, every zephyr is hushed, every leaf is in 
repose, and the moon is silvering, with its cold light, the 
outlines of the foliage, and brightening on the distant hills. 

It is midnight, the hour of stillness and rest, but yet the 
whole scene is not one of repose. The scattered disciples of 
Jesus wait for their Master, who is bending down in his 
lonely retreat, under a burden of suffering which we can 
neither appreciate nor comprehend. And in some lurking 
place in the silent city, the rough soldiers are lighting their 
lanterns, and girding on their weapons, and forming their 
plans. Presently they issue forth, and pass on from street to 
street, now in light and now in shadow, stealing along prob- 
ably in careful silence, lest they might arouse some of the 
people, and provoke the interference which their masters 
dreaded. At this moment, what a spectacle must the whole 
scene have presented to any one who could have looked 
down upon the whole. The dark betrayer, walking in 
advance of his band with cautious steps, half fearing, and 



THE CRCCIFIEKS. 



247 



'1 lie betrayer. 



Apparent discrepancy. 




half rejoicing in his anticipated success ; — the careless sol- 
diers following, to execute a work which they probably did 
not distinguish from any other similar deed which they often 
performed ; — the disciples, scattered through the valley, and 
in the garden, some probably anxious and unhappy, and 
others, overcome with bodily and mental exhaustion, sunk in 
sleep : — Jesus Christ, struggling in solitude, under the pres- 
sure of sufferings which overwhelmed him with indescribable 
agitation, and almost unnerved his soul. There must have 
been something uncommon in an anguish which cculd carry 
the Savior's fortitude to its utmost limit. On the cross he 
was calm. 



One of the most striking proofs of the genuineness and truth 
of the narratives of this transaction which are recorded in 



248 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



The two accounts. 



Fearlessness of truth. 



the New Testament, is the apparent discrepancy between 
the two accounts of the scene which occurred, when Judas 
and his band arrived at the place to which Jesus had 
retired. That this discrepancy may be the better under- 
stood, we place the two accounts in opposite columns. 



Matt. xxvi. 4t-50. 

And while lie yet spake, lo, 
Judas, one of the twelve, came, 
and with him a great multitude, 
with swords and staves, from the 
chief priests and elders of the 
people. 

Now he that betrayed him gave 
them a sign, saying, Whomsoever 
I shall kiss, that same is he ; hold 
him fast. And forthwith he oame 
to Jesus and said, Hail Master, 
and kissed him. 

And Jesus said unto him, 
Friend, wherefore art thou come ? 
Then came they and laid hands 
du Jesus and took him. 



John xviii. 3-8. 

Judas then, having received a 
band of men and officers from the 
chief priests and Pharisees, cometh 
thither with lanterns and torches 
and weapons. 

Jesus, therefore, knowing all 
things that should come upon him, 
went forth, and said unto them, 
"Whom seek ye ? 

They answered him, Jesus of 
Nazareth. Jesus saith unto them, 
I am he. And Judas also, which 
betrayed him, stood with them. 

As soon then as he had said 
unto them, I am he, they went 
backward, and fell to the ground. 

Then asked he them again, 
"Whom seek ye ? And they said, 
Jesus of Nazareth. 

Jesus answered, I have told 
you that 1 am he. If therefore 
ye seek me, let these go their way. 



Fabricators of a story would never have left such a dis- 
crepancy as this ; and yet it is precisely such an one as two 
original witnesses would have been almost certain to have 
fallen into, in narrating the circumstances of such a case. 
Scenes of calm and quiet action, where but few individuals 
are concerned, and incidents succeed each other with quiet 
regularity, may be described perhaps in nearly the same Ian- 



THE CRUCIl'IEilS. 24 G 



Explanation. The encounter. ■ Resistance. 

guage by different and independent observers — but in a scene 
of tumult and confusion, where many are acting and talking 
together, each in a great degree regardless of the rest, faith- 
ful witnesses who describe what they actually see, will tell 
very different stories. A large number of the discrepancies 
of the Bible are of this character, and they are the most 
striking proofs of the fearless honesty of the witnesses who 
recorded the facts. 

Judas came with a preconcerted part to perform. He had 
arranged every thing beforehand, and probably he had, as it 
were, every look and action committed to memory. lie had 
braced himself up to his work, and had fixed its details with 
so much minuteness, that he could perform his part almost 
mechanically, as soon as the proper moment should arrive. 
This is human nature as it shows itself on all such occasions. 
It learns its task, when it has one of an agitating nature to 
perform, or is to act hi any extraordinary emergency ; and 
then it comes up to the moment of action with a sort of men- 
tal momentum which carries it through, right or wrong, and 
leaves it very little power to modify its course, or to adapt it 
to any new or unexpected circumstances. Judas came with 
his plan thus formed ; Jesus had also his own course marked 
out, and the almost mechanical determination of the one, 
came into collision with the fearless and lofty energy of the 
other. The soldiers fell back : perhaps they did not know 
till they saw him, who it was whom they were to bring ; 
and in the confusion of the encounter, each witness has re- 
corded what struck most forcibly his own observation. 

There was a slight resistance, but Jesus stopped it. and 
surrendered liimself a prisoner. The soldiers regained their 
courage, after the momentary alarm excited by the Savior's 
sudden appearance, and began to sec are their victim. There 
was enough in their rough ferocity to terrify the disciples, 
and they fled. The soldiers made perhaps some effort to 

L* 



250 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Binding the prisoner. Jesus before the priests. Their two charges. 

secure them too. They certainly endeavored a short time 
after, to seize a young man, on their way, who came out in 
his night dress, to ascertain the cause of the commotion 
which he heard. At any rate the disciples fled, and the 
soldiers had nothing to do but to secure their prisoner. 

They bound him ; — and binding, under such circumstances, 
is a very different thing from what most of our readers would 
suppose. The cords are not drawn lightly around the wrists 
of a military prisoner. They secured him, and returned to- 
ward the city. The priests were too deeply interested in the 
triumphs they were about to enjoy, to wait quietly for the 
regular time of trial. Some of them even came out with the 
soldiers toward the place where Jesus was taken, and others 
assembled in the palace of the High Priest, and Jesus was 
taken directly into the midst of them. Here they spent 
some time in collecting their testimony, and framing their 
charges, and urging each other on to a higher pitch of ex- 
citement, and to more determined and inveterate hostility. 

There might possibly be a case in which men might be 
deceived in regard to the character of a good man, and might 
press him very severely with the effects of their displeasure, 
from honest, though mistaken convictions of his guilt. That 
this, however, was not the case here, is very certain from the 
nature of the charges brought against the Savior at the differ- 
ent tribunals where he was successively brought to trial. 
These charges were varied to suit circumstances, and there- 
fore could not have been honest. In this case, he was before 
the Jewish priests, and the accusation brought against him was, 
irreverence in speaking of what their religion taught them to 
hold sacred ; — they called it blasphemy. This charge they 
attempted to prove from some expressions, perfectly innocent 
in the sense in which he had used them, and almost perfectly 
so, even with the meaning which they pretended to attach 
to them. They found it difficult to establish their charges 



THE CRUCIFIERS. 25 J 



Blasphenij. Political condition of the Jew5. Capital punishment. 

by any honest witnesses that they could procure, but they 
were soon satisfied in another way. "When he began to 
speak of himself they seized upon the innocent expressions 
which he used, and perverting them from their real import, 
they called what he uttered blasphemy, and the High Priest 
rent his clothes with affected horror. They spent some time 
in gratifying their resentment and hatred, by insulting and 
tormenting their victim in every possible way. He had pre- 
tended to be a prophet, and they accordingly blindfolded him. 
and then beat him, asking him to prophesy who it was that 
struck the blow. Jesus suffered it all in silence. 

The conclusion of their deliberation, if such treatment of a 
helpless prisoner could be called deliberation, was, that he 
ought to die. But in effecting his death there was a very 
formidable difficulty in their way, which must be particularly 
described. 

Judea was, at this time, a Roman province. It had been 
conquered by the armies of the empire some years before, and 
was accordingly now under Roman government. The policy 
which the Romans seemed to have pursued, in maintaining 
their power over the countries which they had conquered, 
was to leave the inhabitants as much as possible to their 
own customs and laws, interfering only in respect to certain 
great and important points, which could not safely be left to 
the vanquished people. The command of all the forts, and 
of all the soldiers, they of course assumed themselves. They 
took the direction of all the important public measures, and 
they reserved, too, a control over the higher criminal cases 
which might occur in the administration of justice. This 
policy now had been adopted in respect to the Jews : in re- 
gard to the administration of criminal justice it had been 
decreed that all inferior punishments the Jews might inflict 
themselves, but they were not permitted to take life in retri- 
bution for crime, without the permission of their conquerors. 



252 THE CORNER-STONE. 

The Roman governor. His hall. The priests remain in the street. 

Of course, then, there was no way by which they could pro- 
cure the exeecution of Jesus, but by carrying him to the 
Roman government, and obtaining the sentence of death 
there. 

But how could they do this ? Their charge against him 
was blasphemy, and what interest could Roman officers be 
expected to take in a case of blasphemy ? The governor 
was comparatively a stranger there, having been in posses- 
sion of the government only six or eight years. He was a 
Roman, not a Jew ; he felt consequently little interest in 
Jewish feelings, and no reverence for what the Jews held 
sacred. How to get a sentence of death confirmed by such 
a man, against a criminal charged with such a crime as 
blasphemy, w r as the question. 

It could not be done. They knew that it could not be 
done ; for a Roman officer, as the event in this case showed, 
could understand the claims of justice, when his own interest 
or ambition did not interfere with them. If they go to Pilate 
therefore with their persecuted prisoner, they must have 
some more plausible pretext than the story of the blas- 
phemy. 

By this time their number had probably much increased ; 
and when the hour arrived at which they could obtain ad- 
mission at the Roman hall, they bound their prisoner again, 
and led him forth into the street. Attended and followed by 
a throng of his Jewish enemies, the Savior walked quietly 
on until he arrived in front of the palace occupied by the 
Roman. When they arrived the Jews sent Jesus in, re- 
maining outside in the street themselves, — lest they should 
be defiled! What perfectly good friends are superstition 
and sin, and with how little interference will they share 
the dominion of the heart. Here is a savage crowd, tyr- 
annizing over a defenseless and helpless man, in the extreme 
of injustice and cruelty ; their blood is boiling with angry 



THE CRUCIFIERS. 



253 



Scruples of the Jews. 



' Another app arent discrepancy. 



passions, and no ob 
stacles or difficulties 
are sufficient to restrain 
them in their eager- 
ness to secure the de- 
struction of their vic- 
tim ; — and yet, thus 
excited, thus inflamed, 
and thus destitute of 
all right principle to 
restrain them, they 
stop at once when they 
come to the doors of 
a Roman building, and 
will not enter it, for 
fear that they shall be 
defiled ! 




THE PALACE. 



The Roman was a pagan, and his apartments were for- 
bidden ground to them. The strictness of their law had pro- 
hibited even so slight a connection as this with idolatry ; es- 
pecially when they were about to celebrate any of the more 
solemn ordinances of the law. The passover was at hand, 
and they must eat it. They could insult and torture an in- 
nocent victim, but they must not omit to eat the paschal 
lamb ! They could stand burning with malice and rage in 
a Jewish street ; but to cross the threshold of a pagan dwell- 
ing, — would never do. Every man there probably prided 
himself on his scruples, — his inflexible precision in obeying 
the law ; but thought nothing of the loathsome and terrible 
corruption which had full possession of his heart. "Whited 
sepulchers the Savior had called them. What an exaet 
comparison ! 

They were particularly scrupulous at this time, on account 
of the approaching passover, as the narrative informs us ; but 



254 THE COPwNER-STONE. 



Truth and fabrication. Explanation. 

the same narrative states that the passover had been cele- 
brated the evening before ; for it was to keep this feast that 
Jesus and his disciples had met on the preceding evening. 
The apparent discrepancy is another of those marks of genu- 
ineness, which no skill can ever counterfeit. The occur- 
rences of real life constitute a most complicated web, where 
a thousand actors, and a thousand events mingle and inter- 
twine in the most intricate confusion. All is however, in 
fact, consistent, though no one eye can take in the whole. 
Through this congeries, truth takes its bold and unhesitating 
way, confident that it can not find at any one point any 
thing which is really inconsistent with what it is to meet 
with at another, and therefore it speaks freely of what it sees, 
and boldly exhibits every object which may lie in its track. 
It runs of course into apparent difficulties. It leaves inter- 
ruptions and chasms, which additional light must correct 
and explain, and it is only when that additional light is fully 
furnished that we see, in all its perfection, the consistency 
and harmony of the whole. Fabrication can not take such 
a course. She must make things consistent and plain, as 
she goes on ; or if she leaves an apparent difficulty, there 
must be an explanation at hand. 

The researches of scholars have reconciled this apparent 
disagreement ; in fact there are several considerations, each 
of which is sufficient to account for the language used. Per- 
haps the most important is, that there was a dispute at that 
time in regard to the day on which the passover should be 
kept ; — some, relying simply on the declarations of Scripture, 
celebrated it on one evening, and the priests and pharisees, 
following certain traditions, preferred the next. It is not ne- 
cessary, however, for our purpose to dwell on this subject 
here. 

The character exhibited by these priests is the second great 



THE CRUCIFIERS. 255 



Judas and the priests compared. The spirit of the priests. 

variety which this whole transaction brings to view. Enmity 
to the Savior appears in them in very different forms from 
that which it assumed in Judas. His ruling passion was 
love of money, — theirs was love of place and power. They 
were priests ; all their estimation in society, and all the vir- 
tue, on which they so confidently prided themselves, depended 
on the ceremonies of the Jewish law. Undermine these, and 
call public attention from ceremonial exactness to internal 
purity, and such an influence and such characters as theirs 
would be ruined. Jesus Christ had been doing this most 
effectually, and all their spiritual pride, ambition, and every 
worldly feeling was roused. 

There is a great difference, also, between the actual ap 
pearances which were exhibited in the two cases. Judas 
was calm, the priests were furious. Judas endangered his 
Master's life by cool, calculating treachery ; the priests were 
loud and boisterous and urgent, in effecting his destruction. 
The former was the accessory, assisting others in what he 
never would have undertaken himself. The latter were the 
principals, originating every plan, and pressing it forward 
with the most open and determined energy. 

The reason for this difference is, that the principles which 
Jesus Christ was publishing came at once into inevitable 
and direct collision with the ambitious views and feelings of 
the priests, while they were not thus aggressive in respect to 
the avarice of Judas. The Savior's principles did indeed as 
plainly forbid the avarice, but his acts did not come so directly 
in the way of its gratification. Judas was left to pursue un- 
interrupted his own plans, but the hollow hypocrisy of the 
Jews was not thus left. Every public address made by the 
Savior was most directly exposing it. Judas, therefore, re- 
mained quiet and undisturbed, while the priests were goaded 
on to fury. The ruling passion was gently draivn out of its 
retreat, in the former case, allured by the opportunity of grati* 



256 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Contentions among denominations. I'etor. 

fying itself by the ruin of its victim ; in the latter, it was 
boldly assaulted in its den, and the contest was, of course, a 
desperate struggle for existence. 

The spirit of the high priests exists still in the world, — 
reigning in many a heart which puts the splendor of forms, 
or the stability of an ecclesiastical organization, in place of 
the progress of pure, heartfelt piety. Many a pastor would 

"""prefer having a man in his congregation, rather than in 
another's church, and will really regret the progress of re- 
ligion, if he sees its current flowing out of his own commu- 
nion. How many times have professed friends of God stopped 
suddenly the progress of his cause, by contending about a 
division of the fruits of its success. They think that they are 
punctilious for the order and regularity of the church. So 
did Caiaphas. They sacrifice the interests of the soul, for 
the sake of scrupulous adherence to what they deem the letter 
of the law. This was exactly the sin of the priests and 
Pharisees. The law of God, and attachment to his pre- 

\ scribed ordinances, is their pretended motive, while love of 
personal influence or denominational ascendency is the real 

\one. So it was with these crucifiers of the Savior. There 
may be a great difference in the degree in which these feel- 
ings are exhibited, but let those who cherish them study the 
case, and see if they can find any difference in kind. We 
can find none. Whoever puts his rank and station, and the 
interests of that division of the church to w 7 hich he belongs, 
on which perhaps his rank and station depend, in competi- 
tion with the progress of real, heartfelt, genuine piety in the 
world, will find, if he is honest, that the spirit of the Jewish 
Sanhedrim is precisely his. 

But now comes a new character still, upon this ever- 
varying stage. At the door of the hall where this trial is 
going on, stands a man who is watching, with eager in- 
terest, every thing which takes place. He seems to be a 



THE CRIXIFIEE.S. 257 



His appearance at the hall. ' Character of Peter and John. 

stranger. He endeavors to affect unconcern, but he plainly 

is not one of the common bystanders there. Presently 
some one comes down to the door, and procures admission 
for him, and he takes his place by the fire with the others, 
who are waiting to see the end. He is accused several times, 
by persons who notice his appearance, of being one of the 
friends of the prisoner, but he is afraid to admit it. An hour 
ago he drew his sword in his master's defense. — now he dares 
not admit that he knows him. Perhaps he was afraid that 
Maichus would remember, against him, his wounded ear. 
He had, in fact, more reason to fear than any other disciple ; 
and, as human nature is, it is not surprising that he should 
be overcome by the greatness of the danger. 

If this scene were fiction, one of its highest beauties would 
be the contrast of character between Peter and John. A 
superficial observer, drawing from imagination, would have 
made Peter, in all respects, bold and undaunted ; and in ex- 
hibiting John as mild and gentle, would have made him 
timid and yielding. But history, in this case, as she is re- 
ceding facts, is true to nature, and while she gives to Petei 
physical boldness and constitutional ardor, she gives the calm, 
steady, lofty moral courage to the gentle John. At mid- 
night, among lanterns* and torches, and weapons, and an 
armed band, Peter rashes en with his sword ; but when the 
hour of physical excitement has passed, he turns pale at the 
question of a maid-servant, and denies his Lord. John has 
no resistance to offer to a soldier ; but amid all his Master's 
dangers, he keeps close to his side, his known and acknowl- 
edged friend ; attending him faithfully on his trial, and do- 
ing all he can by his presence and sympathy to soothe his 
last moments upon the cross. 

Pteader, if you had been in Peter's case, should you have 
denied your Master as he did ? Were this question to be 
proposed to any assembly of Christians, and if an answer 



258 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Peter's sin very common. His temptations compared with ours. 

were to be immediately given, according to the spontaneous 
feelings of the heart, it would be, perhaps, one universal 
negative. You think that you yourself would certainly never 
have committed so great a sin ; and still it is not at all im- 
probable that you are cherishing a secret hope that your sins 
are forgiven, and are yet concealing it from others. You 
hope that you are the Savior's friend, but you are afraid or 
ashamed to have it known to others that you are so. You 
wish to make secret peace ; and are unwilling to repair open- 
ly, the injury which you have openly done. 

Still, you will say perhaps, that, though this may be 
wrong, there is a great difference between such a conceal- 
ment, and repeatedly and plainly denying the Savior in ex- 
press assertions. 

True. And so there is a great difference between the de- 
gree of danger which leads you to deny your Master, and that 
which overwhelmed Peter. You are afraid of a taunt, or of 
some harmless sarcasm ; scourging and crucifixion threatened 
him. You are afraid of the looks and words of a few of your 
own companions ; he quailed before weapons of torture and 
death, in the hands of a ferocious soldiery ; if you consider, 
therefore, the difference between the modes by which your 
practical denial of Christ, and his, ate exhibited, you must 
also consider the difference in the strength of the tempta- 
tions by which you are respectively overcome. The sin is the 
same in its nature in both cases, and though yours is less con- 
spicuous, it may be even more rather than less aggravated 
than his. 

Th& sin of Peter is, in all essential characteristics, very 
often committed by those who profess to abhor it. Brought 
as we are, in such a world as this, into perpetual connection 
with the influences of sin, we are very often thrown into cir- 
cumstances where we think it most prudent, for a time, to 
conceal the flag under which we profess to sail. There is? 



THE CRUCIFIERS. 



259 



Denying Christ at the present day. The narrative resumed. 

no great danger which we dread ; but when we come into 
scenes where Jesus Christ is not honored, and where his prin- 
ciples are in disrepute, we quietly conceal our attachment to 
him ; and while we perhaps say nothing that is false, we 
allow ourselves to pass for worldly men, by speaking in their 
tone, and displaying, so far as we can, their spirit. We are 
ashamed or afraid to avow our principles, and, consequently, 
we stand substantially where Peter did. There is, in fact, 
no essential difference between his case and ours. The cir- 
cumstances are altered, but the spirit is the same. 

But we must go on with our story. The Jews, too punc- 
tilious to go themselves into the judgment hall, waited in the 
street and sent their prisoner in. The conversation which 
ensued is one of the most striking examples which the Bible 
contains ; — every incident being so true to nature, and every 
word so exactly in keeping with the character and circum- 
stances of the individual who utters it. It was substan- 
tially as follows. While reviewing it, however, we must 
keep in mind the strongly-marked characteristics of the three 
great parties in the transaction. Jesus the victim, patient, 
quiet, and submissive, ready to bear and to suffer every thing ; 
silent under mere taunts, but ready to explain, when any one 
shall honestly ask for explanation. The crowd in the street, 
eager for his destruction, but without power to effect it, un- 
less they can obtain permission from the governor, before 
whose palace they have assembled ; and the governor himself 
caring nothing about the Jews or their pretended criminal ; 
but unwilling either to put an innocent man to death, or to 
displease the people under his command, and standing espe- 
cially in awe of any thing which might hazard his political 
character in the estimation of the emperor at Rome. Agi- 
tated and distracted by the contrary impulses of these feel- 



260 THE CORNER-STONE. 

The dialogue in the street. Charge it treason. 

ings, he vacillates and wavers, and tries every way to escape 
the responsibility of a decision. 

The reader must bear in mind that the conversation and 
the incidents, as we proceed to relate them, are not pictures 
of the writer's imagination, but that the account is faithfully 
transcribed from that of the sacred writers, with no change, 
except the adaptation of the language to the purposes of this 
narrative. 

"What accusation do you bring against this man ?" was 
the first and most natural question. Pilate came out to ask 
it of those who had assembled at the door. 

They answered that he was a malefactor. Perhaps they 
had not decided upon the precise charge which they should 
bring against him. 

" Very well," was the reply, " take him then and judge 
him according to your law." 

" He deserves death, and that it is not lawful for us to 
inflict," they replied. " We have, . therefore, brought him 
to you." 

A conversation now ensued, in which they produced a new 
charge, one adapted to the feelings of the new judge. The 
old accusation was blasphemy. Now it is treason. Treason 
against the Roman government. This, too, when every Jew, 
from Galilee to Gaza, abhorred the Roman yoke, and would 
have almost deified any one who would have raised success- 
fully the standard of rebellion. Every Roman tax-gatherer 
was hated, and every mark of the political subjection of the 
country was odious in the extreme ; and they had them- 
selves attempted in vain to lead Jesus to say something 
against the Roman government, supposing that he would not 
dare to brave public opinion so far as to speak in its favor. 
In the face of all this, they come, heartless pretenders to an 
allegiance which they did not feel, to denounce him to their 
common enemy, for what they would, every man of them, 



THE CRUCIFIERS. 261 



Pilate and the Savior in the tall. 



have been glad to have had done. It was the basest of all 
charges ever brought against the victim of any oppression. 
They accused him, before their common enemy, of being 
their own friend ; for treason against Caesar would have 
been political attachment to them ; so that if he had uttered 
sentiments hostile to the powerful foe which had brought 
one common oppression over the land of their fathers, it 
would have been base treachery for them to have dis- 
closed it. 

But he had not. They took some of his metaphorical 
expressions, and perverted them to a meaning which they 
were never intended to convey ; and endeavored from these 
to maintain their charge of treason against Csesar. 

The charge was well calculated to produce some effect. 
It evidently arrested the attention of the Roman, and he went 
into the hall, where Jesus stood waiting, to ask for his defense. 

The manner in which he accosted him seems to imply that 
Pilate thought it probable that his prisoner was some insane 
or at least eccentric man, against whom his countrymen had 
been for some reason exasperated ; for he does not put the 
charge of treason to him as an accusation against which he 
wished to hear his defense ; " Art thou the king of the Jews ?" 
said he ; as if his object were to put him off his guard, by 
saying nothing which implied reproach, but only endeavoring 
to draw him into conversation. 

"Do you ask the question of your own accord?" was the 
Savior's reply, " or is that the charge which they bring against 
me." It must be remembered, that Jesus, having remained 
within the hall, had not heard the conversation which Pilate 
had held with his enemies in the street. 

" Am I a Jew ?" asked Pilate in reply. " "What interest 
should I take in the affairs of your people ? Your own coun- 
trymen have brought you here to me, as a criminal : what 
is it that you have done ?" 



262 THE CORNER-STONE, 



Pilate's efforts. His inquiries. His plan for avoiding a decision. 

" They accuse me then of trying to be a king. I have 
spoken sometimes of a kingdom, but it is not of this world. 
It is evident that I have not aimed at political power ; if I 
had, I should never have yielded up myself to my enemies 
"without a struggle. My friends would have fought for me 
if this had been the nature of my aim. No : the kingdom 
which I have spoken of is not of this world. " 

" Are you a king, then, in any sense ?" 

" Yes, I am. I came into the world to found a new 
moral kingdom here, by bearing witness to the truth.' ' 

" What is your truth ?" asked the Roman ; but apparently 
not waiting for a reply, he went out to the door again, and 
told the multitude there, that he found no fault in the man. 
He probably supposed that he was some ignorant and deluded, 
but harmless enthusiast, whose case deserved no serious 
notice. 

The priests, however, renewed their charges. They 
assured the governor that their prisoner was really a dan- 
gerous man, that he had been exciting sedition, and teaching 
the people treason against the Roman government, all over 
the land, from Galilee to Jerusalem. 

The word Galilee suggested to the perplexed Roman a 
Lew way of extricating himself from the difficulty, for it was 
fast becoming quite a serious difficulty to him. His sense of 
justice would not allow him to condemn an innocent man, 
but he could not resist the clamor which demanded his 
death. The word Galilee reminded him that he might 
throw off the responsibility of the decision upon Heiod, who 
had jurisdiction over that province, and who was, at this 
time, accidentally at Jerusalem. He sent Jesus therefore to 
Herod, his accusers following in the train. 

Herod was glad to see them come, when he heard who it 
was that they were bringing. He did not wish, like Pilate, 
honestly to examine the case, but hoped for amusement 



THE CRUC1FIERS. 263 



Herod. The Savior's silence. Another plan. 

from his prisoner. Jesus perceived it at once ; and though 
he frankly explained to Pilate his character and plans, to 
Herod's questions of curiosity and insult he deigned no reply. 
The priests and scribes accused him vehemently, but he was 
silent. They clothed him in a gorgeous robe, in ridicule 
of his supposed pretensions, and then sent him back to 
Pilate. 

Under these circumstances, the Procurator was much per- 
plexed to know what to do. Duty was on the one side, and 
strong inducement to do wrong on the other, and he wavered, 
and hesitated, and resisted, and inclined now to this side, and 
now to that, just as the human mind so often does, in cir- 
cumstances substantially the same. Millions of men, who 
struggle ineffectually with temptation to do acknowledged 
wrong, may see their own story told, and almost their own 
hearts reflected in this scene. 

His first plan was, to compromise the difficulty. 

"You have brought me this man," said he, "as one that 
is exciting the people against my government. I have 
examined him, here before you, and can not find any 
evidence of his guilt. I have sent him to Herod too, and 
he finds no more evidence than I. Now I am willing to 
inflict some moderate punishment upon him, but he has 
done nothing worthy of death." 

This of course did not satisfy the Jews, They were deter- 
mined, if the most urgent demands on their part could pre- 
vent it, that he should not escape so. 

Pilate then thought of another proposal. It had been 
customary for him at the great festival of the Jews to 
release some public criminal, as a favor to them. In a 
conquered country the interests of the government are gen- 
erally regarded as so distinct from those of the people, that 
even the punishment of criminals, especially those guilty of 
political crimes, is regarded as in some sense, an injury to 



2G4 



TIIE CORNER-STONE. 



Barabbas called for. 



The excitement. 



Pilate's perplexiiy. 



the community. A foreign power comes and establishes 
itself over them, and it is not surprising that even wholesome 
control should be unpopular, and that the pardon of a state 
criminal should be regarded as a boon from the authorities, — 
a suitable contribution from the government, to the means of 
rejoicing at a great public festival. 

The Roman proposed, then, since the Jews insisted that 
Jesus should be condemned to die, to consider him as thus 
condemned, and then to pardon him, as it was usual to par- 
don one on the occasion which had now arrived. He might 
have known that this proposition would not satisfy them. 
The crowd were all ready with their reply. " Release 
Barabbas ; 



Barabbas ;" " Pardon 
from a hundred voices. 



Barabbas," came 



up 



"What shall I do 
then with this Jesus ?■" 
" Crucify him ; — Cru- 
cify him." 

" Why, what evil 
hath he done ? He is 
not guilty." 

" Crucify him; — Cru- 
cify him ;" was the uni- 
versal reply. 

The perplexed and 
distressed Procurator 
seems scarcely to have 
known what to do. 
The crowd must at this 
time have become very 
great, and was proba- 
bly every moment increasing. Passions were rising, — violent 
gesticulations, and ferocious looks, spoke the intense excitement 
which prevailed, — and he must have seen that there was 




CRUCIFY HIM. 



THE CRUCIFIERS. 265 



The scourging. The crown of thorns. 

the most imminent danger of a riot, perhaps an insurrection, 
which would involve him in lasting difficulty, or might even 
ruin forever his political hopes. He could allay the whole 
by giving up the defenseless and innocent object of their 
fury. But when he looked upon him, patient, mild, sub- 
missive, waiting in silence to learn what was to be his 
fate, he could not do it. He was a Roman, and he knew 
his duty. 

It was very plain, however, from the course that he had 
taken thus far, what would be the ultimate decision. He 
began to yield at last, and when a man proposes terms with 
sin of any kind, it is not difficult to foresee which will con- 
quer. Pilate concluded to go one step farther ; to scourge 
the prisoner, in hopes, perhaps, that when his enemies came 
to witness his sufferings under the lash, their hearts would 
relent, or at least that their anger would be satisfied. He 
gave him up to the soldiers therefore, and ordered him to be 
scourged. 

Scourging ! How few of those who have read this story 
have any idea what a military scourging is. I might give 
a description from the narratives of witnesses, for the horrid 
suffering is still inflicted as a supposed essential part of mili- 
tary discipline. But it must not be done ; I could, not intro- 
duce to my readers, by distinct description, a hardy soldier, 
writhing and shrieking under such an infliction, without 
passing those limits in the detail of physical suffering, beyond 
which, such a work as this ought not to go. How Jesus bore 
it, we are not told. Pilate hoped it would satisfy his mur- 
derers. It tvould have satisfied any common murderers. 

The scourging finished, — the bleeding sufferer was retain- 
ed some time by the soldiers, for their amusement. A larger 
number, perhaps nearly the whole garrison of Fort Antonia, 
were called to enjoy the sport. They crowned him with 
thorns, and gave him a reed for a scepter, and then with the 

M 



266 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



One more appeal to the Savior's enemies. 



The decision. 



gorgeous robe which Herod had found for him, they held him 

up as an object of universal derision. 

Pilate at length came forth again, to make a last effort tu 

*ave the prisoner. 

" Here," said he, " 1 
have brought him forth 
again, to tell you once 
more, that he is not 
guilty. Behold the 
man," said he, as he 
pointed to the prisoner, 
covered with marks of 
the sufferings and in- 
dignities he had borne. 
The reed was in his 
hands, the purple robe 
around him, and the 
thorns were in his 
bleeding temples. No 
wonder Pilate thought 
his enemies would have 




BEHOLD THE MAN. 



been moved. 

" Crucify him," " Crucify him ;" was the universal reply. 

" You must take him then and crucify him yourselves, for 
I can not find any fault in him. He has not been guilty of 
treason." 

But why go on to detail the faltering, failing efforts, which 
t he Roman officer made to save his prisoner. He had begun 
to yield, and though he continued to dispute the ground, at 
every step he gave way more and more, until, finding that 
riot and tumult were inevitable, and when it was pretty dis- 
tinctly intimated that he might be denounced at Rome, as a 
traitor himself, if he allowed this supposed traitor to go free, 
he finally yielded. Before giving, however, the orders for 



THE CR0C1T1ERS. 267 



Character of Pontius Pilate. - The Boldiers. 

the crucifixion, lie came out before the multitude, and in the 
most solemn manner assured them, that the man was inno- 
cent, and that if they crucified him, they must answer for 
his blood. 

11 His blood be on us, and on our children," was the awful 
reply. 

Very few men ever think of comparing themselves with 
Pontius Pilate, or with the soldiers who executed his orders ; 
when perhaps there are not anywhere in the Bible, delinea- 
tions of character which might be more universally appro- 
priated than these. Neither of them felt any special hostility 
for the Savior. Pilate would have done his duty if he could 
have done it by any common sacrifice ; but like multitudes, 
probably, who will read this examination of his character, 
he was not willing to make the sacrifice which was neces- 
sary, in taking the right side. The reader fluctuates, per- 
haps, just as he did, between conscience and temptation, 
yielding more and more to sin, and finding the struggle more 
hopeless the longer it is continued. A religious book, an 
afflictive or a warning providence, or an hour of solitude, 
quickens conscience, and renews the combat ; but the world 
comes in with its clamors, and, after a feeble resistance, he 
gives way again, — a Pilate exactly, in every thing but the 
mere form in which the question of duty comes before him. 

And the Roman soldiers too ; they would have said if they 
had been charged with doing wrong, that they were soldiers, 
and that they must do as they were ordered. They executed 
Christ as they would have executed any other man at their 
centurion's command. Such work was their business, and 
the part which they performed in the sad tragedy was, as 
they considered it, an act simply of official duty ; they felt, 
probably, that there devolved upon them personally no re- 
sponsibility whatever for the deed. The excuse was. to say 



268 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Sinning in the way of busines3. Various characters exhibited at the cross. 

the least, as good then as it is now, and it will be allowed as 
much weight at the judgment day in the case of the ignorant 
and degraded soldier, as in that of the enlightened and culti- 
vated member of a Christian community. In other words, 
it is no excuse for either. The bookseller who has circulated 
a pernicious book, the lawyer who has fomented the quarrels 
which he ought to have healed, the merchant who has dis- 
tributed over the community the temptations to vice, or the 
means of gratifying unholy passions, and the soldiers who 
insulted and tortured their victim in obedience to their com- 
manders, will all find at last, that the customs or regulations 
of business among men, will never justify doing what con- 
science declares to be wrong. 

Such is the marked and striking variety of character which 
is exhibited in this extraordinary scene. We have the sol- 
diers and the bystanders, like the mass of mankind, uncon- 
cerned and reckless, caring little about right and wrong, and 
controlled in their conduct by the accidental influence of 
circumstances, — neither fearing God, nor regarding duty ; 
and we have Pilate, doubting and hesitating in the struggle 
against sin, — conscience awake, and yet temptation power- 
ful, and the contest ending, as such contests usually do, in 
the victory of sin. They are fair examples of the two great 
forms of open wickedness ; hardened reprobates sinning with- 
out compunction, and the wavering and miserable soul doing 
wrong in spite of it. It is hard to tell which Go I regards 
as most guilty. We have hypocrisy, also, in its two leading 
forms ; Judas, a hypocrite for money, and the priests, hypo- 
crites for place and power. To complete the collection, we 
have piety in its two leading forms ; the wandering, sinning, 
and broken-hearted Peter ; and Mary and John, firm in their 
duty, and unwavering in their affection, to the last ; sharing 
the opprobrium and the danger of their Master, and keeping 



THE CRUCIFIERS. 269 



His numerous friends. Crucifixion. Inflammation. 

closely at his side ; giving him all that human sympathy can 
give, and receiving his dying charge. 

It is a very common impression that the populace, gener- 
ally, were against the Savior, at this time ; hut the narrative 
does not seem to countenance this idea. The priests were 
against him, and they seem to have been the chief, if not the 
only agents. They contrived their plans secretly, in order 
to get him apprehended, and to procure sentence against him 
by the Roman governor, before there should be any opportu- 
nity for a rescue by the people ; after this, they knew that 
he would be secure ; and now when he was led away, under 
Homan authority, to execution, they seem not to have feared 
any interruption. A great company of friends did, however, 
follow him, lamenting his cruel fate. He once turned to 
address them on his way, asking them to weep not for him, 
but for themselves and their children. 

They came to the place of execution, and painful as it is, 
w T e must dwell a few moments upon the scene that was pre- 
sented there. Jesus was to be crucified ; and crucifixion is 
perhaps the most ingenious and the most perfect invention 
for mingling torture and death which was ever contrived. 
It is the very master-piece of cruelty. Life is to be destroy- 
ed ; but in this way of destroying it, it is arranged with sav- 
age ingenuity that no vital part shall be touched : the tor- 
turer goes to the very extremities, — to the hands and to the 
feet, and fixes his rough and rusty iron among the nerves 
and tendons there ; and the poor sufferer hangs in a position 
which admits of no change and no rest, until burning and 
torturing inflammation can work its way slowly to the seat 
of life, and extinguish it by the simple power of suffering. 

They laid the Savior down upon the cross, and extended 
his arms ; a soldier on each side holds the hand down in its 
assigned position, and then presses the point of his iron spike 



270 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Thirst. Suffering. Death. 

upon the proper place in the palm. He raises his hammer, 
— the patient sufferer waiting calmly for the blow : — 

But we must stop ; — we are going beyond those limits in 
the detail of physical suffering, which we have said that a 
writer in such a work as this, should not pass over. "We 
leave the rest, and the reader must conceive, if he can, of the 
first sharp piercing agony, and the excruciating pains then 
shooting through the frame ; — the rising inflammation, and 
the intolerable thirst,— the dreadful thirst of the wounded, — 
that thirst which brings up from a field of battle, a few hours 
after the contest, one universal cry for water, from the thou- 
sands who lie dying upon the ground. As the Savior hangs, 
too, by such a suspension, hour after hour, we must remember 
that he had heen scourged. Perhaps this was in mercy how- 
ever. He died sooner than the malefactors. 

But it is too awful a scene to dwell upon. We may read 
the narrative in the gospels, without much feeling, because 
we have long been familiar with the words, and they cease 
to affect us. But if the imagination really enters into the 
scene, she recoils, awed and terrified, from the contemplation 
of such sufferings. 

Life was slow in relinquishing its hold, attacked thus, as 
it was, in the remote extremities. It sunk at last, however, 
under the power of protracted pain. The sufferer ceased 
to speak ; his head dropped upon his breast ; and as they 
looked up to his face from below, the rigid fixedness of 
feature, and the half-closed and glassy eye told them that all 
was over. 

In crucifixion, ingenious and savage cruelty maintains her 
ground to the very last ; for when the executioner gets tired 
of waiting for the miserable sufferer to die, and time compels 
him to do something to accelerate the work, he has not the 
mercy to destroy the sad remnant of vitality at a blow. He 



THE CRUCUTERS. 27 \ 



The soldiers' visit at sunset. The body taken down. The disciples. 

keqps, still, as far as possible, away from the seat of life, and 
by new violence inflicted on the limbs, endeavors simply to 
send a new pang, as a reinforcement to the assailant, in the 
protracted contest between life and suffering. It is the very 
object and aim of crucifixion to kill by pain, and with savage 
consistency they will employ no other agent to speed the 
work. Accordingly when, at sunset, the soldiers came to the 
place of execution, to see how the fatal process was going 
on, they broke the malefactors' legs to quicken their dying 
struggles. . 

" He is dead already," said they, when they came to the 
Savior's cross, and looked at the body hanging passive and 
lifeless upon it ; and one of them thrust his long iron-pointed 
spear up into his side, to prove that there was no sense or 
feeling there. 

The ferocious executioners then went away and left the 
disciples to take the body gently down, and bear it away to 
the tomb. As they carried it to what they supposed would 
be its long home, the limbs hung relaxed and passive ; the 
tongue, to whose words of kindness and instruction they 
had so often listened, w T as silent ; the eye fixed, — the cheek 
pale, — the hand cold. The soldiers had done their work 
effectually ; and though the disciples could not have noticed 
these proofs that their Master had really gone, without tears, 
they must still have rejoiced that the poor sufferer's agonies 
were over. 

As to themselves, all their hopes were blasted, and all their 
plans destroyed. They had firmly believed that their Mas- 
ter was to have been the Savior of his nation ; instead of 
that, he had been himself destroyed. The day before, every 
thing had looked bright and promising in their prospects ; 
but this sudden storm had come on, and in twenty-four hours 
it had swept every thing away. They placed the body in 
the tomb, and, disappointed, broken-hearted, and overwhelm- 



272 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Moral effect of the scene. 

ed with sorrow, they went to their homes. They knew noth- 
ing about the design and nature of these sufferings,- — and we 
know, after all, hut little ; but who can be so insensible as 
not to seo, that this transaction, exhibiting on so conspicuous 
a stage all the forms and degrees both of holiness and sin, 
and especially when seen in the light in which the sacred 
writers subsequently exhibited it, goes very far toward mak- 
ing the same moral impression, as would be made by the just 
punishment of sin. Who can read the story, without loving 
purity and holiness, and abhorring and dreading guilt. 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 273 

Plan of the work. Human life. 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE PARTING COMMAND, OR THE MEANS OF SPREADING THE 

GOSPEL. 

" Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature." 

Were we to follow inclination, we should not pass over 
those most interesting events, which occurred during the in- 
terval between the Savior's death and ascension. But it is 
not the design of this work, as the reader will have already 
perceived, to give a connected and continuous history of 
Jesus Christ, hut to bring forward the leading principles of 
religious truth, as they are naturally connected with the 
various points of this history. Fidelity to our plan therefore 
seems to require, that after having considered the sufferings 
which our Savior endured for us, we should pass on to the 
consideration of the great work which he wishes us now to 
do for him. He assigned this work to his disciples by his 
last words. 

The objects and the pursuits of human life are entirely 
changed, by the view which the gospel takes of the human 
condition and character. "Without the light which Chris- 
tianity sheds upon it, life is a dull and wearisome path, a 
routine of tiresome duties, or heartless pleasures. Every one 
will admit that it has been so with him, in respect to the 
past, though his future way seems gilded with new promises 
of enjoyment. These, however, will certainly fade away, 
when he approaches them, as all the rest have done. 



274 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Anticipated happiness. What have I to lire for. 

The mass of mankind never see this. They know, it is 
true, that they have never been really contented and happy, 
and are not so now ; but just before them, in the voyage of 
life, they see a bright spot upon the waters, which they ex- 
pect soon to reach, and where their bark will float, they 
think, in a golden sea of light and glory. That spot has been 
just as far from them, and has looked just as bright and al- 
luring for years, — and as they have approached it, the splen- 
did reflection has fled, and the waters have returned to dark- 
ness and gloom, before the keel of their bark could plow 
them. Still they have not discovered this illusion, but they 
give themselves up, again and again, to the influence of these 
deceitful hopes, and press forward as eagerly to the spot of 
imagined happiness, as if it had now just for the first time 
burst upon their view. 

The more thinking and serious, however, see the truth, 
and feel it deeply. It seems to them discouraging to toil on 
in duties which return every day the same, and the perform- 
ance of which leaves behind no permanent effects ; or to seek 
for pleasures which the experience of years has proved can 
seldom be attained, and which, when they are attained, do 
not satisfy. These feelings have oppressed many a sensitive 
and reflecting spirit, as it has looked forward to the years 
of life that remain, and thought how soon they would be 
gone, and has asked with a desponding sigh, " What have 
I to live for ?" 

The true followers of Jesus Christ are raised at once above 
the vacuity and inanity which characterize a life spent with- 
out God. Their Master did not leave the world without 
giving them something to do. Something, at once pleasant, 
and useful, and ennobling. It is pleasant, because it interests 
all the feelings of the heart, and carries the soul on to peace- 
ful, but rich enjoyments, of the very highest character. It 
is useful ; it seeks directly the highest good, aiming at happi- 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 275 



The work of a Christian. Means of doing it. Holy life. 

ness present and future, and attaching its own proper share 
of importance to every means of attaining it. It is enno- 
bling ; for it sinks all the base passions of selfishness and sin, 
it breaks over the barriers and limits of time and sense, and 
expands the views and widens the field of effort, — and by 
linking man with God, in one great and common enterprise, 
it raises him almost out of the sphere of human action, and 
gives him an employment eternal in duration, and unbounded 
in the wide-spread extension of its aims. 

The work which Christ has given us to do is the promo 
tion of his kingdom here ; and it is the work of all . If there 
is any thing clearly asserted in the iSew Testament it is that 
the followers of the Savior are not their own, but his ; that 
they are bought with a price, and are bound to be devoted 
to their Maker's service. The great work, too, which in his 
service they are called upon to perform, is establishing and 
spreading the reign of holiness in this world ; and it is of 
such fundamental importance that every Christian should 
understand clearly his duty in this respect that a chapter 
ought to be devoted to it ; and as it is a subject which re- 
lates exclusively to personal duty, I shall adopt the form of 
direct address to my reader. 

When you give yourself up to the service of Jesus Christ, 
then, consider how much is meant by it. It involves, among 
other things which have already been considered, devoting 
yourself to his work. To bring men to repentance and holi- 
ness was the work of his life ; if you follow him, then, it 
must be yours. This point, however, was considered more 
fully in a preceding chapter. Our object is now not to en- 
force the duty, but to show rather by what means it is to be 
performed. These we shall consider in order. 

I. A HOLY LIFE. 

The most direct and powerful means of promoting the 



276 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Two kinds of influence. The salt of the earth. 

Savior's kingdom, is the vigorous cultivation of your own 
growth in grace. There is a great tendency among Chris- 
tians to look too much away from themselves, and to suppose 
that they are to do good to their fellow-men by bustling 
efforts, bearing directly upon them, without the light of a 
high and consistent and unsullied example of holiness. " Ye 
are the salt of the earth," said our Savior, and the very ex- 
pressive metaphor seems to imply that Christianity is to in- 
fluence mankind not so much by its outward and open tri- 
umphs in the world, as by the silent and unseen, and yet 
most powerful operation of its principles, in the hearts and 
lives of its professors. The thousands of individual Christians 
are surrounded, each in his own little sphere, with a circle 
upon whom they exert a constant influence. The aggre- 
gate of this influence is immense. Each individual, how- 
ever, is responsible only for his own comparatively minute 
and separate share ; but success in securing it, in every part, 
and consequently in the whole, depends on personal Chris- 
tian character. 

To show this, let us consider the amount of influence of 
two distinct kinds, which may be exerted by a particular 
church. The church consists, we will suppose, of a hundred 
members ; and in the daily business and pursuits of life, these 
members are connected, probably, more or less directly with 
two thousand persons. That is, there are two thousand per- 
sons, at least, who are acquainted with some one or more of 
them. One kind of influence, then, exerted by these Chris- 
tians is, that of their private character and conduct, and the 
spirit manifested in their dealings, as they affect these two 
thousand. Again, they are interested, we will suppose, in 
the spread of religion, and they contribute a considerable sum 
\ of money to circulate Bibles or tracts, or to support mission- 
aries in foreign lands. Now the point is, that the former, 
namely, the private influence, exerted over those with whom 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 277 

Duties to ourselves. Common danger. . Looking to others. 



they come into immediate connection, is far more important 
than the other. It is this kind of influence which is more 
frequently spoken of in the New Testament than the other ; 
and if the church felt the importance of it, and universally 
acted accordingly, the Gospel would make far more rapid 
progress in the world than it now does. The reader will 
see in the sequel that I do not mean to undervalue the .second 
mode of promoting Christ's kingdom. It should have its I 
proper place ; hut the first and great duty of every Christian 
is to see that his own heart is right, and that the light of 
the glory of God shines in all his private conduct. 

And yet this is very often forgotten. The heart, deceitful 
and hard toward God, loves to forget it. We seek moral 
renewal for ourselves, and we feel, at first, a strong interest 
in our Maker's service ; hut the world comes in again and 
gets the victory ; and since we do not like to renew the pain- 
ful struggle necessary to overthrow it once more, we leave 
ourselves, and endeavor to quiet conscience by activity in our 
efforts to save others from their sins. Our pride is gratified 
by the thought that we stand on safer and better ground 
than those for whom we labor, and there are many other 
worldly feelings that we gratify, in devising and executing 
our plans. In the mean time our own hearts remain cold 
and dead ; our petitions become feeble, our prayers formal ; 
desires for real spiritual blessings for our own souls are gone, 
and we work industriously, with the pretense of endeavoring 
to procure for others what we do not really desire for our- 
selves. 

This must not be so, if we wish to do any good to the 
cause of Christ. We must look within, and seek first to 
eradicate our own sins, and have our own hearts right. We 
should pray for spiritual blessings for ourselves, and see that 
we do it sincerely. Many and many a night when the 
Christian kneels for his evening prayers, he can not honestly 



278 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Watching one's self. Common way of evading duty, 

ask God to come and be with him. The world has full pos- 
session ; and if he prays in words that God would come and 
break its chains, it is with a secret wish that he may not be 
heard. If we examine ourselves with careful scrutiny, we 
shall often find that this is really the case. The Christian, 
therefore, who wishes to be at his post, and to act efficiently 
for his Master, should pray for himself, and see that he can 
pray honestly. 

Again, he should watch himself. We are all far more 
willing to watch one another than to watch ourselves. It is 
easier, and more pleasant to see the faults of others than our 
{ own. We like to think of the obstinacy, and ingratitude, 
and folly of those that are entirely without God in the world, 
\fctr better than to see the same qualities in ourselves. Now 
there is, unquestionably, such a fault as turning our thoughts 
too exclusively to ourselves. Many persons err in this way, 
and to them, advice contrary to this should be given. But 
such cases are rare. The mass of Christians, especially in 
this busy age, are far more inclined to be watchful over all 
their neighbors, than over themselves, and especially to see 
the hardness of heart, and the base ingratitude exhibited by 
sinners, while they entirely overlook their own. 

Once more ; we should labor for our own spiritual good. 
In religious action, the natural law in respect to selfishness 
seems to be reversed. We are far more ready to toil for 
- — --others, than for ourselves ; we had rather that they would 
repent, than that we ourselves should grow in grace ; — we 
prefer buying and distributing a dozen tracts for the unre- 
generate, to reading attentively and prayerfully a treatise 
designed to promote our own progress in holiness. 

This is not surprising, though it is very wrong. Unhappi- 
ly for us, moral renovation leaves sin in our hearts, wounded, 
indeed, but very imperfectly subdued ; and this is one of the 
forms, which, forever deceitful, it continually assumes ; but 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 27 ( J 



Influence of personal holiness. Influence of action. 

it must not be so. The best way to spread religion, is to 
exemplify it. A pure church is the most powerful army ; 
the Christian armor consists of the Christian graces, and it 
is with these, that victories really valuable are alone to be 
won. 

But it is not my intention here, to point out the means of 
growing in grace, but only to bring to view the importance 
of a high standard of personal holiness among believers, as a 
means of spreading the religion of the Savior. There is a 
great tendency to look with too exclusive an interest at the 
public movements of the church in its efforts to extend its 
boundaries, while the far more powerful influences which 
might be exerted by piety and holiness within, are compara 
tively neglected. The interest felt, however, in the public 
movements of the church, is not yet half what it ought to be 
I do not wish to depress the one, but to raise the other. In 
fact they generally go hand in hand. Bight efforts, made in 
the right spirit, are among the very best means of promoting 
piety and spiritual progress, in the individual who makes 
them ; there is a sort of reflex action that brings to his own 
heart, the blessings which he seeks to bring down upon 
others. But to accomplish this object, they must be right 
efforts, made in the right spirit : and here is the danger. 

In fact there is no question that a man may be led to the* 
most vigorous efforts to promote the cause of religion from ' 
motives which are altogether distinct from those which the 
Savior requires. Self-interest, party spirit, love of honor, 
spiritual pride, and a thousand other motives animate a vast 
proportion of the zeal which is professedly expended in the 
cause of Christ. One man, a professor of religion, and in 
fact a sincere Christian, is very much engaged in promoting 
the building of a church. The cause of Christ, he thinks, 
requires it, So it does, and so will the value of his property 
be increased by ij:s being placed in his vicinity ; and it will 



280 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Double motives. Bad principles cultivated by religious acts. 

/ require a great deal of careful self-examination, for him to 
ascertain in precisely what proportion these two motives act 
upon him. In fact, if a destroying angel were commissioned 
to pass over our land, and apply the torch to every church 
which pride, or interest, or love of honor had erected, and 
leave those only which are the monuments of sincere and 
honest love to the Savior, we fear that the smoke of a great 
many conflagrations w r ould ascend. 

In the same manner, a minister will be active and ardent 
in his efforts to awaken religious interest among his people ; 
or, an author may write a book, ostensibly to give religious 
instruction. Now they both may be led forward in their 
work by a desire to do good ; but it must not be forgotten 
that the very same success which accomplishes good for the 
cause, brings honor to the laborer ; and many an enterprising 
and zealous workman will find, if he looks honestly at his 
heart, that the worldly feeling has far more than its fair 
share in the work. 

** It is the same with all the open and active means of 
endeavoring to promote the Savior's cause. There is so 
much mingling of motives in them, that it is difficult to tell, 
in many cases, 'whether the natural or the renewed feelings 
are most cultivated by such efforts. If these things are done 
in the right spirit, they cultivate that spirit ; — and on the 
other hand, the feelings which prompt them are strengthened, 
>if they are wrong. Bad passions as well as good thrive under 
the influence of indulgence, and consequently the very same 
act, such as contributing money for any religious or charita- 
ble purpose, may be the means of awakening and cherishing 
in the heart of the Christian who makes it, love to God, and 
a warm desire for the salvation of men. It may wean him 
from the world, and link him to his Savior by a bond closer 
than before. On the other hand, it may give the reins to 
selfishness and passion, and banish spiritual peace and joy, 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 281 

Influence of the heart greater than that of the conduct. 

and bring back the soul very far in its sad return to the 
dominion of sin. 

It is therefore unsafe to depend, as too many do, on mere 
Christian action, for their growth in grace. It is sometimes 
unquestionably wise, to turn the thoughts of some dejected 
desponding Christian away from himself, in the hope that he 
may find cheerfulness and enjoyment in doing work for his 
Master. It is, in many cases, the very best advice which 
can be given. Still those instances, though many in the 
aggregate, are individually rare. In all ordinary cases, th*? 
great danger is the other way, — of going out of ourselves, 
and seeking to win G-od's favor by outward diligence and 
zeal — what we call Christian action, — while the passions of 
the heart remain unsubdued, and its recesses of hidden guilt 
unexplored. It is a great deal easier, with hearts such as 
ours, to give money, or to erect a church, or to exhort in a 
religious assembly, or to write good advice for others, than to 
come and humble our own selves, and to crucify the flesh ~^~ 
with its affections and lusts. 

The advantage of making more direct and special efforts 
to induce Christians to cultivate the right spirit of piety, than 
to induce them to go forward in Christian action, is manifest 
from the consideration that warm piety in the heart will 
almost spontaneously go forth into Christian action, whether 
you urge it on or not : but the most uninterrupted and ener- 
getic Christian action will not necessarily produce the right- 
state of heart. It may only foster and strengthen the bad 
principles of action from which it springs. Besides, the light 
of a pure and honest Christian character must of itself do 
good among men. It exerts an influence which they can not 
but feel, and it is an influence far more powerful than any 
other. Suppose we could station in any community in our 
country, a little band of perfect Christians, and leave them 
there, merely as specimens of the practical effects of Chris- 



262 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Holy example. Unholy example. The latter common. 

tianity. Connect them by the ordinary pursuits of business 
with the mass of society, but cut them off, if you please, from 
all opportunity to make direct efforts to inculcate the princi- 
ples of religion upon others. What an effect their simple 
presence would produce ! Pure, holy, harmless and unde- 
filed, weaned entirely from this world, and living entirely for 
another. Hearts warm with love to God, and ardent affec- 
tion for one another, and untiring benevolence toward all 
around them ; selfishness gone,— pride, censoriousness, resent- 
ment, all gone ; and instead of the base passions of human 
nature, the whole soul filled with the noble and generous 
and exalted sentiments which Christianity tends to inspire. 
What an influence would be exerted by such a church, even 
if the members of it were deprived of all those means of 
influence on which we ordinarily depend ; and how different 
would it be in its nature, from that which is now too often 
exerted in the towns and villages of our land, by those who 
have in charge the cause of the Savior there. The minister, 
cold and heartless, — close and selfish in his dealings during 
the week, — and then preaching, on the Sabbath, in the per- 
formance of a dull routine of duty, or to gratify the vanity 
of rhetorical or theological display ; — the father, worldly and 
selfish, — devoted, with his whole soul, to the work of making 
a fortune, — and now and then adding his name to a subscrip- 
tion, to keep up his credit as a benevolent man, or perhaps 
to be relieved of unpleasant importunity ; — and a mother, 
scolding and fretting among her children and domestics all 
the morning, and then decking her face in assumed and 
heartless smiles, or in an expression of affected solemnity, to 
go to a religious or charitable meeting in the afternoon. My 
description may seem unnecessarily severe : I hope it is so. 
At all events, one thing is certain, that Christians can not 
hope that God will bless them, and prosper his cause in their 
hearts, unless their hearts are right, and their efforts in his 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 282 



Personal influence. Its value as a means of doing good. 

service are made from honest desires to promote their Savior's 
cause. And this will not be the case, unless the spirit of 
religion, which is the spirit of peace, love and joy, reign 
habitually and incessantly at home, as well as abroad, — in 
retirement as well as in public : and if it really exists, it will 
show itself as certainly in the tone and manner with which 
we speak to our children, or bear the little trials of every-day 
life, as in the most public acts performed in the face of the 
world. 

If, then, you wish, Christian, to do any thing effectual for 
the Savior, look within : labor first and most constantly with 
your own heart, so that the light of pure religion may beam 
in beauty and gentleness there. The world around will see 
and feel its moral power. Many will be led by it, to the 
fountain which has purified you ; they will follow your ex- 
ample, they will imbibe your spirit ; and thus, while coming 
nearer and nearer to the Savior yourself, you will in the most 
effectual manner extend his kingdom. 

II. PERSONAL INFLUENCE. 

Aim at acquiring as strong a personal influence as possible 
over others. We put this next to the work of securing your 
own progress in holiness, because we really believe it stands 
next. The man whose own heart is right toward God, and 
who has a strong influence over others, must inevitably do a 
great deal toward promoting the Savior's cause. He may in 
many cases mistake ; he may work to disadvantage ; but he 
has the essentials, and to a great extent he must succeed. 
But let us explain what we mean by personal influence. 

Here are two Christians equally devoted to their Master's 
cause. One, however, feels that next to his responsibility for 
his own personal character, his highest trust is his direct in- 
fluence over others. This influence he will steadily endeavor 
both to preserve and to increase. In al] his intercourse with 



284 THE CORNER-STONE. 

The contrast. Repulsive piety. Its bad influence. 

others he endeavors to acquire their good-will. To find his 
way to their hearts, his benevolence is active, practical, 
operating at all times, and diffusing enjoyment all around 
him. He has regard for the rights and feelings of others, as 
well as for his own. He sympathizes with the difficulties 
and trials of those who are connected with him ; and thus, 
independently of the light which his character sheds around 
him, he is the object of strong personal regard. 
|The other is a very different man/ He cultivates the spirit 
of piety, and bewails his sins before God. He is ready to 
make even great sacrifices to do good, whenever the oppor- 
tunity presents : but in all the thousand little connections 
which bind him to society, he seems morose and stern. The 
ordinary kindnesses and courtesies of life, he never exhibits. 
He reserves his charity for masses of men, and his benevo- 
lence for great occasions. In all the ordinary dealings, in 
which he becomes connected from day to day with his 
fellows, he is harsh and unconciliating ; firm in the defense 
of all his rights, and inflexible in resisting every injury. He 
means to do what is right ; but on the line which his eye 
marks out as the line of rectitude, he stands firm and per- 
pendicular. He ought to stand thus on the line of rectitude 
in respect to moral principle, but not on that of justice in 
regard to his own interests. He never sympathizes with 
those who are dependent upon him. They find that he does 
not think of their temptations, or feel for the trials which 
they have to bear. If they are sick, he relieves their wants 
perhaps with cold propriety, but gives no evidence of com- 
passion, or of real good- will. 

Now with the same degree of piety, if it is possible for the 
piety to be the same in two such cases, and with the same 
degree of wealth, and with the same influence of standing, 
how different will be the amount of service which these two 
individuals can render to their Master. The one is connect- 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 286 

The fault generally incurable. , Unsound logic. 

ed, by the closest ties, to many human hearts ; and his senti- 
ments, his feelings, his spirit are insensibly and continually 
adopted by all around him. His light shines and allures. 
The other not only can do no good, but is constantly though 
insensibly doing harm. The world around consider his char- 
acter as illustrating the natural tendencies of religion. Many / 
cases have occurred where a Christian of wealth and public 
influence has had such a character that a whole community 
has been seared in conscience, and alienated from the truth, 
by the associations which such a spectacle constantly before 
their eyes has led them to form. They would have disliked 
the purity and spirituality of religion in some degree perhaps 
without this, but they are led by it to dislike them still more. 
They are thus driven farther and farther away from God, by 
means of the influence of one of his friends. 

Such characters, too, when once formed, seem to be incur- 
able ; for as every mad projector defends himself against the 
most convincing proof of the wildness and impracticability of 
his schemes, by recollecting the opposition and incredulity 
which Columbus had to contend with, so do these Christians 
consider every difficulty which they incur, and every feeling 
of opposition which they awaken in others, as proofs of their 
fidelity in the cause of their Master. " He that lives godly, 
will suffer persecution," says the apostle ; but they read it 
the other way. All that suffer persecution must certainly 
be godly. Not very sound logic, the impartial reader will 
say ; but any logic is sourd enough to convince, when it is 
offered by interest or pride. 

It is the duty then of every individual, who wishes to obey 
the Savior's dying command, and in obedience to it, to assist 
his Master in spreading the reign of piety among men, to 
take care of his personal influence. 

Avery large number of the readers of this work will how- 
ever, in all probability, attempt to place themselves out of 



286 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Supposed want of influence. Extent and power of influence. 

the reach of all these remarks, by saying to themselves : 
" This is all very true, but it does not apply to me. I have 
no influence, and from the very circumstances in which 
Providence has placed me, I can not have any." 

While such readers have been perusing the preceding par- 
agraphs, their thoughts have been fixed upon some influential 
individuals whom they could call to mind, and they have con- 
sidered these remarks as applicable only to them, or to persons 
placed like them in stations of trust and responsibility in the 
service of God. Perhaps some one who reads this may wish 
he could apply the remarks to himself. Sometimes, perhaps, in 
your hour of devotion, when your heart is warmed by reflect- 
ing what the Savior has done for you, you sigh to reflect how 
little you can do in return. You wish that you had some 
public or general influence which you might devote to the 
cause of the Savior. But you are alone ; your sphere of duty 
is limited to the little spot in which you move from day to 
day, with very little influence over other minds ; so that 
even when you wish to do good, it seems scarcely in your 
power. 

This feeling is one which very extensively prevails ; but 
it is founded upon an entire mistake, in regard to the nature 
of the influence which may be made most valuable for the 
purpose of promoting the Savior's cause. You think that 
you have no influence. You have on the contrary, in fact, 
a very powerful influence. It is not extensive, but it is power- 
ful, and this distinction you overlook. Let us consider it a 
little. 

The chief magistrate of a populous city has an extensive 
influence. It reaches a great many minds. His plans and 
his measures promote or injure the interests of thousands. 
They are discussed, and approved or condemned, in many a 
little group, and thus, out of all the multitudes around him, 
there are very few who do not know his name at least, if 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 287 

The chief magistrate. The two friends. Mutual influence. 

they do not hear of his doings. The influence of what 
passes in that one man's mind extends, in this way, to tens of 
thousands. But, after all, this official influence is not very 
powerful in any individual case. In the aggregate, it is very 
powerful, — but it is an aggregate made up of very small 
items. Select from among the multitudes with whom he is 
daily thrown into connection, the one to whom he is bound 
most closely, — over whom he has the greatest ascendency ; 
and how great an ascendency is it ? Why, it is a tie of 
business. It is the influence of a slight interest in common, 
and the chain will remain just so long as the business and 
the common interest retain their hold. The power of heart 
over heart, in such a case, is very small. The man, from 
the eminence on which he is placed, holds a slight control, a 
feeble influence, over many thousands. We gaze at the great- 
ness of it, in amount, and forget how feeble it is in detail. 
The very child, returning from school with the companion of 
his studies and his plays, holds an ascendency and control 
over the heart, to a decree which the statesman or the 
magistrate never obtains. Now, it is influence over the 
heart, which is most effectual in making friends for the 
Savior. 

Suppose that two obscure and solitary individuals live to- 
gether in a retired dwelling among the mountains. Their 
pursuits, their interests, their joys, and sorrows are common. 
If one is cheerful and happy, the light of her smile is reflected 
upon the countenance of the other. If one is gloomy or im- 
patient, or sad, the sympathy which years have cherished, 
transfers the emotion to the bosom of the other. However 
dissimilar in disposition and character they may have been 
in youth, every difference is gradually diminished or destroyed. 
They come to be interested in the same pursuits, to fear the 
same evils, and to have every w T ish and every emotion com- 
mon. This process of assimilation goes on till the last, — and 



230 



THE COIIX EX-STONE. 



Powerful but not extensive. 




THE FRIENDS. 



when one of them at length lies down in the grave, the 
other is left to mourn the loss, with a feeling of irretriev- 
able bereavement, to which human life can hardly afford a 
parallel. 

This, now, is a powerful influence ; — but it is not an ex- 
tensive one. The influence of each could extend only to the 
other. The w 7 orld around was nothing to them. And what 
is peculiar in this case is, that the greatness of the ascend- 
ency would depend, most of all, upon the very fact that the rest 
of mankind w r ere removed beyond their reach. The fact that 
they were nothing to all the world, was the very reason 
why they were so much to one another. And it is so with 
as all. The more a man's influence is extended and diffused, 
tli3 more is it ordinarily weakened, in its bearing upon indi- 
viduals. The public officer, who reaches' a hundred thou* 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 289 



The child and his little brother. - The Christian laborer. 

sand minds, reaches them all feebly ; and if you wish to find 
an example of the highest power exerted by one heart over 
another, you must seek it in the case of some one secluded 
from the world, and engaged in a round of duties which 
bring him into contact with but few. 

We may go farther than this, and say that there is scarce- 
ly an example of influence to be found, so powerful as that 
exerted by a little child just old enough to talk, over his 
little. brother or sister a year or two younger than himself. 
He is in all things its leader, and guide, and oracle ; with 
perhaps more power over its heart, than the world exhibits 
in any other case. The little learner follows and imitates its 
superior in almost every thing. He goes wherever his com- 
panion leads, — and mimics all his actions, — and repeats, in 
his imperfect and broken articulation, all his words ; and he 
is thus led forward to almost all his knowledge, and guided, 
in almost the whole formation of his character, by a child, 
only a little older than himself, and who is almost entirely 
unconscious of the influence which he is thus exerting over 
an immortal mind. 

Such is the distinction between the extent, and the indi- 
vidual power of influence, and it does not require much rea- 
soning to show which is most efficient as a means of promot- 
ing the salvation of souls. Piety is a feeling of the heart, 
and he who would promote it, must gain access to the heart. 
Consequently, the more direct the access in the individual 
case, the greater is the prospect of success. A Christian 
laborer who is employed day after day by an irreligious man, 
has a far greater influence over him in a religious point of 
view, than the chief magistrate of the country can have. 
The laborer must have a great influence in the formation of 
the religious character of his employer. If he is gentle and 
benevolent, and of unbending integrity and faithfulness, and 
if it appears that these traits of character spring from his 

N 



290 THE CORNER-STONE. 



None too young to do good. Influence over brothers and sisters. 

Christian principle, the example thus set will speak with an 
eloquence which words can seldom equal. 

Perhaps this chapter is read by some one who has been ac- 
customed to consider himself too young to do any good. You 
look around you, and see others enjoying opportunities of 
making direct efforts in the Savior's cause, and you think that 
if you should enjoy such a privilege, you would highly prize 
it. " Had I but a class in a Sabbath-school/' you say, " how 
happy should I be to endeavor to lead my pupils to the 
Savior." 

You have not, indeed, a class in the Sabbath-school, but 
you have a little sister who is infinitely more under your in- 
fluence than any dass of Sabbath-school children could be. 
You would see the class only on the Sabbath, and then but 
for an hour, — that too, in a crowded room, and among mul- 
titudes of strangers. Your brother and your sister, however, 
are with you every day. They come to you for assistance in 
a thousand difficulties, and for guidance in all their per- 
plexities and cares. You can see them at all times ; you can 
watch for opportunities to interest and attract them ; you 
can help them to forsake their sins, and to watch against 
temptation, by being at all times at hand ; and, above all, 
you can set them a constant example of the power of piety 
in making your own conduct what it ought to be, and your 
own heart peaceful and happy. Now the influence which 
you thus may possess is altogether greater than you could have 
as a Sabbath-school teacher. It is not so extensive, but it is 
more powerful in the individual case ; and this is what is to 
be considered in judging of the opportunity you have to do 
good. Improve first the little field which Providence has put 
so entirely into your power, before you look forward to 
wider spheres. 

There is not now a Christian on the globe who has not a 
very powerful influence of the kind which I have described, 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 291 

Every Christian has an influence. - Effect of universal fidelity. 

over one, two, or more minds around him. Providence has 
placed us all in connection with our fellow-beings in such a 
way that we must exert a great influence upon the formation 
of their characters. The power which we thus hold is far 
greater than we suppose, and until all within the circle of 
our acquaintance, however narrow that circle may be, are 
devoted and happy Christians, we must never say, and- never 
feel that God has placed us in circumstances in which we 
have nothing to do for him. 

It is on these principles, and for such purposes, that every 
individual Christian should labor to deepen and extend the 
influence in his hands ; and it is by means of this, mainly, 
that he is to aim at building up the Savior's kingdom. If 
every one would be faithful, in the sphere in which Provi- 
dence has placed him, the most astonishing effects would be 
immediately witnessed. Suppose that every Christian were 
to come up at once to his duty as a follower of Christ, re- 
nounce the world entirely, search his heart, and cultivate, by 
every means in his power, his own spiritual progress, — and 
then devote himself to the work of doing good in the narrow 
sphere of his own personal influence. There would be no 
splendid conquests achieved by any one ; but by the united 
efforts of all, the w r ork would go on with universal and almost 
inconceivable power. No one who knows the effect of holi- 
ness, when it appears in living and acting reality, in arrest- 
ing attention and alarming the conscience, and in winning 
those who witness it to penitence and faith, can doubt that 
each individual who should thus live might hope to be the 
means of bringing one, two, three, or four, every year, to the 
service of his Master ; and to double or treble or quadruple 
the church in a year, would be progress which would soon 
change the face of things in such a world as this. 

This is the way undoubtedly, that the principles of the 



292 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Future spread of the gospel. Study of human nature. 

gospel are ultimately to spread in the world, through the in- 
fluence of the lives and efforts of private Christians. I speak 
of course, now, of those countries where Christianity has 
nominal possession. Private Christians look far too much 
away from themselves, to ministers and missionaries, and 
Bibles and tracts, — and imagine that their business is merely 
to sustain the efforts made through these means. The far 
more valuable and powerful influence, which might be 
brought to bear upon a world lying in sin, from the light of 
religion in the hearts and lives of the great mass of believers, 

v is lost sight of, and forgotten. But it is the church which is 
the pillar and ground of the truth. It is the great mass of 
disciples, which are the light of the world. Or rather it is 
they who ought to be ; for a cold and worldly church, in- 
stead of being the pillar of the truth, is a millstone about its 
neck. Instead of casting around them the beams of heav- 
enly light, its members shed abroad a darkness and a gloom 
which there is nothing to dispel. 

Be careful, then, not only to watch your own progress in 
piety, but to seek influence over your fellow-men, — the influ- 

~*~ ence of heart over heart ; and as far as you secure it, conse- 
crate it all honestly and sincerely to the cause of Christ. 

HI. THE STUDY OF HUMAN NATURE. 

Carefully study the powers and tendencies of the human 
soul, especially in its religious aspects, and be prepared to 
act intelligently in all that you do in attempting to influence 
the heart. Most sad mistakes are made in this respect, by 
many religious men, who make efforts blindly, and without 
consideration, as if they imagined that religious truth was to 
accomplish its object by some mere mechanical power which 
it possesses, and as if it were of no consequence how it is ap- 
plied. 

In order to avoid this evil, it is necessary to consider, be 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 293 



Mistakes often made. Example of Paul. His preaching. 

fore we attempt to act upon any heart, what is the real effect 
which we wish to produce upon it, and then to adapt our 
means to the production of the effect. Many persons err 
very widely in this respect. A teacher, for example, offers a 
prize to he awarded to the pupil who will commit to memory 
the greatest numher of verses in the Bible. Emulation and 
jealous rivalry immediately take possession of the class, and 
reign supreme. But the verses are committed. The hoys 
are indefatigable in their efforts, and if committing verses in 
the Bible was the ultimate object in view, and was to be ac- 
complished at any sacrifice, the plan might be considered 
triumphantly successful. But committing passages of Scrip- 
ture is not the end : it is only the means to an end. That 
end is the moral renewal of the heart, and it is defeated en- 
tirely by the mode taken to secure it. 

Again, a religious man goes to converse with an unbe- 
liever. I do not mean one who openly rejects Christianity 
as a whole, but who denies its fundamental truths, and lives 
in sin, sheltered by his unbelief. Now the proper object of 
a conversation with him is not to convince his intellect, but 
to awaken his conscience. The difficulty is not with the un- 
derstanding, but with the heart ; and instead of wasting time 
in a fruitless attempt, by argument, to force upon his mind 
evidence which he is fully determined not to see, the true 
policy is to bring up, gently but clearly, questions of duty, 
based on what he admits to be true. 

The Apostle Paul understood this principle, and practised 
upon it most perfectly. He adapted his discourses most 
adroitly to the condition and wants of his auditory. When 
he reasoned before Felix, it was upon righteousness, temper- 
ance, and judgment to come ; topics which his distinguished 
hearer could appreciate and understand. He based his ad- 
dresses to the Jews on the sentiments of their own Scriptures. 
At Athens he endeavored to awaken the conscience by ap« 



294 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Mistakes of Christians. Guides in the study. The Bible. Observation. 

pealing to the few simple truths which his hearers there 
could not deny ; and in his epistles to the Christian church, 
he went at once into all the sublime and mysterious truths 
which are revealed by the full light of the Christian dispen- 
sation. He studied human nature, and adapted what he 
had to say to the moral condition and wants of those whom 
he addressed ; always making it his great object to awaken 
the slumbering conscience by the highest truths which his 
audience were prepared to understand. 

In their efforts to promote the cause of religion, Christians 
often act as if they imagined that the great object was to 
bring truth before the mind, whereas the real difficulty is to 
gain influence for what is already there. The work which 
\ve have to do is to touch the heart, not to pour cold light 
pon the reason. Now to awaken warm feeling in the heart 
is unquestionably the province of the Spirit of God. We can 
not effect it alone, but we may adapt our efforts to this de- 
sign, and at all events, we may so manage them as not to 
thwart or oppose it. The reverse is often the fact. Many 
and many a time is religious truth presented to a mind in 
such a manner, and accompanied by such attending circum- 
stances, as to destroy its effect. The various ways by which 
this is done can not in such a chapter as this be pointed out. 
What we wish is to put the Christian on his guard, that he 
may watch his plans and methods, and see that he does not 
defeat his own designs. 

The proper guides, in such a study of the human heart, 
are the Bible and observation, not theoretical books. Per- 
haps a very large proportion of those who make human 
character a study at all, go first to theoretical writers for 
general views, and then just look into the conduct of men for 
the mere purpose of finding illustrations or proofs of them. 
They never go into the field as independent observers, ready 
to notice whatever they may see, and to leave it to tell its 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 295 

Books. Theories. Theological notions. 

own plain story. Certain facts, which accord with their 
adopted theories, stand out in bold and prominent relief, 
while others are overlooked or forgotten ; or if they are too 
conspicuous to be completely disregarded, they are warped 
and twisted to suit the false conceptions of the mind. Such 
a course, besides fixing error, is an insurmountable barrier to 
progress. We notice and speculate upon human conduct 
just so far as the ground is covered by our theological or 
metaphysical opinions, and beyond that we do not go. 

Books, and the opinions of great men on human nature, 
may perhaps be guides, but they never should be trammels 
and barriers. The field of observation is open before all ; and 
Christianity, while it gives us the noblest work to do, gives 
us also the loftiest science to study. It puts, too, all the 
means and opportunities for observation fully before us, and 
says in spirit, " You have a world of mind around you, open 
to your influence and accessible to your observation. Make 
it your great study to understand it, and your great work to 3 
bring it home to G-od." 

In regard, however, to the study of human nature, the 
difficulty with most persons is not that they do not make any 
observations of their own, but that they do not connect the 
results which they obtain by such observation with their-"" 
religious knowledge. Most men have in fact two entirely 
distinct and independent sets of ideas in regard to human 
character. One, obtained from metaphysical and theological 
speculations, and the other from their own intercourse with 
men in the common business and pursuits of life. These 
two classes of ideas too, they keep distinct and separate. On 
the Sabbath, and when reading religious books, or thinking 
of the human soul in its theological aspects and relations, 
they take one view, and in the ordinary business of life they 
take another ; and the knowledge of human nature, and the 
skill in influencing it, which men so easily acquire in the 



296 THE CORNER-STONE. 



I 



Want of skill. Careful study necessary. 

latter case, very rarely extends itself to the former. It 
accordingly very often happens, that a man will display an 
unusual share of discrimination and delicacy of touch, so to 
speak, in operating on the minds around him in respect 
to the common affairs of the community, or to opinions 
and customs relating to ordinary life, while he is awkward, 
rough, and unsuccessful in every thing like the exertion of 
religious influence. Here, he seems to act on new and 
independent principles. He throws all the knowledge and 
skill which had proved itself so valuable in the other case 
utterly aside, and proceeds, if indeed he proceeds at all, in a 
blind, mechanical, and formal manner, which is as unsuccess- 
ful in religion as it would be in any thing else. 

In truth, a great portion of the religious community would 
acknowledge, if they would be honest, that they do not con- 
sider the exertion of religious influence as coming under the 
ordinary rules which should regulate the action of mind 
upon mind. They justly attribute all hope of final success 
t© a divine influence upon the heart ; but this, though it 
assigns a large part of the work to a higher power, does not at 
all alter the nature of the other part of it, which remains 
committed to us. We should always consider then, when 
making any efforts to bring a friend or a neighbor or a child 
to God, whether we should take a similar course, or at least 
one based on similar principles, or similar views of human 
nature, to accomplish any other change in his feelings or 
conduct. 

Be careful also to make every experiment and effort, a 
means of increasing your stock of knowledge of the human 
mind, and of its tendencies and movements in respect to reli- 
gious feeling. Watch the operation of causes and the nature 
of effects. Look into the Bible for a standard of religious 
duty, and for correct views of the nature and obligation of 
God's law ; and then look into the wide field of action and 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 297 

Use of property. Claims of Christianity. 

character, which is developing itself all around yon, and seek 
practical knowledge of man there. When you fail of pro- 
ducing a desired effect, investigate the cause of your failure ; 
when causes from which you would have looked for one result, 
produce a different or contrary one, examine the case and 
ascertain the difficulty. "When success attends your efforts, 
analyze them with care, to discover what were the essential 
conditions of success. In this way you can not hut make 
progress, and it is not at all necessary that acting thus faith- 
fully and skillfully in doing your work, should lead you at 
all to undervalue the necessity of most efficient and con- 
tinued help from above. 

IV. USE OF PROPERTY. 

The Christian religion takes higher ground in respect to 
human duty than any pretended message from heaven ever 
dared to assume, and it makes claims, which for boldness 
and authority stand entirely without a parallel. Its theory 
is substantially this : That it is the great design of Jehovah 
to establish an universal kingdom of benevolence, and conse- 
quent happiness : — that this kingdom has been, in this world, 
overturned and destroyed ; and that all who wish its restora- 
tion are to come and give themselves wholly to the work of 
promoting it. He does not require men to devote a part of 
their time, and a part of their property 7 , to his purposes, leav- 
ing them to employ the rest for themselves. He claims the 
whole, — or rather he invites men to come and consecrate the 
whole to the work of co-operation with him. He allows no 
distinction between his property and ours. He makes no 
specification of the amount of time, or the extent of influence, 
which we should devote to his cause : but, on the other hand, 
he most distinctly says, that as he is devoting all his energies, 
and employing all his time, in the promotion of universal 
holiness and happiness, he expects all who wish to be con- 



298 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Common question. Case supposed. 

sidered on his side to come and devote all theirs to this work 
too. 

The question is very often asked, " What proportion of a 
man's income ought to be devoted to charitable purposes ?" 
But the question itself seems to rest on an entire misconcep- 
tion of the nature of the claim which God makes upon men. 
It may have either of two meanings. In the first place, the 
inquirer may mean to ask, what proportion of his means of 
doing good in this world ought to be devoted to his Master's 
service, and what to his own : — or, on the other hand, it may 
mean this : when all that a man has, is consecrated to God, 
what proportion of his means of influence should he employ 
himself, and what portion should he commit to others to em- 
ploy, in his Master's service, — for it will he seen by a very slight 
examination, that when money is given for a charitable pur- 
pose, it is generally a method of sustaining others in the work 
of doing good, instead of doing it directly ourselves. Now 
in the first of these two significations, the question is evi 
dently based on erroneous views. God will admit of no such 
division of the heart, nor of the powers, of his creatures. In 
the second, the question must be unanswerable ; that is, it 
can receive no general answer, for the courses to be taken in 
respect to it are as various as the conditions and circum- 
stances of men. 

But let us analyze a little more accurately the real nature 
of doing good by means of money. It is called giving, but 
strictly speaking it is not giving. It is simply a combina- 
tion of men in one place, to produce a certain moral effect 
in another ; and money is made use of, as the mere instru- 
ment by which the object is accomplished. This we shall 
easily see, by looking at a particular case. 

To make the reasoning the more^ simple, we will suppose 
a case which would never precisely occur, but we can easily 
apply the principles which it illustrates to ordinary instances. 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 299 

The rude Islanders. Ways of reaching them. Various plans. 

We will suppose that, on some rude and inhospitable coast, 
remote from the fertile and wealthy regions of the civilized 
world, there is a community of hardy settlers, who are de- 
voted and consistent Christians. They enjoy religious privi- 
leges themselves, and at length they form the wish to do 
something for the ignorant and vicious inhabitants of a small 
island, a few miles from their coast. They are themselves 
dependent upon their daily exertions for their daily bread, 
and consequently, though they can all, besides discharging 
the duties they owe to their families, and to the poor around 
them, find an hour or two in each day, which they can de- 
vote to G-od's service in some foreign field, no one of them 
can gain time enough to go away from home, to visit the 
destitute islanders. Now there are evidently two ways by 
which they can surmount the difficulty. Any one of them 
can lay by the proceeds of his labor during those hours which 
are not required in the discharge of his duties at home, until 
he has accumulated stores sufficient to supply his family and 
himself during the time necessary for making a visit to the 
island. The other plan is, for all to combine, and send one 
of their number, by uniting their labors, during those extra 
hours, to provide support for the one thus sent. Let us sup- 
pose the latter plan to be adopted ; and to make the case 
more distinct, we will imagine that one particular hour is 
assigned at which, during each day, all who remain at home 
shall be at work for the family of the one who was selected 
to go. When the hour for this labor arrives, the missionary 
is perhaps at the island, explaining to the inhabitants the 
nature of religion, and the claims of duty, while his friends 
and neighbors at home are each, in his own little garden, 
laboring to provide food and clothing for their absent brothei 
and for his lonely family. They are all at work together, 
and in one common cause. They are not, indeed, all in im- 
mediate connection with the souls for whose benefit the enter- 



300 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Co-operation. Money. Its nature as a means of doing good. 

prise was planned, but they who are at home, laboring to 
sustain the absent one, are as really and effectually operating 
upon the distant island, as he who has gone. They are all 
engaged in one common enterprise, for the promotion of God's 
cause, each doing his assigned part. Neither is giving to the 
other, — unless indeed he who goes can claim some gratitude 
from the rest, for having assumed the severer and more try- 
ing portion. 

Now money is only a representative of the proceeds of 
labor, and if, instead of sending out to their missionary the 
provisions and clothing that he would need when engaged in 
his enterprise, his Christian friends at home should convert 
those provisions and clothing into the form of money, and 
send them to him in that form, it would not alter the case. 
They would still all be laborers in one common cause, differ- 
ent parts assigned to each, but all laboring together to spread 
the gospel, according to the command of their Master. Nor 
would the case be altered, if instead of working for this pur- 
pose at some specified time, each one was to labor when he 
pleased, in carrying forward this cause ; nor is it essential 
that such labors should be kept distinct from the ordinary 
labors of the day. All these incidental circumstances may 
be almost endlessly varied, without at all altering the real 
nature of the transaction, considered as a combination among 
many Christians to effect a moral impression on human souls, 
each taking his own appropriate part, but all engaged to- 
gether, and all responsible directly to God. 

Such substantially is, in all cases, the nature of the em- 
ployment of money in spreading the gospel. One man by his 
own unaided efforts can not give the Bible to a nation, cr 
Dreach the gospel in a half-civilized province, or upon an 
island of tawny savages, half round the globe. There must 
be a great combination to effect objects which are so great, 
compared with the narrow limits of individual power. In 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 



301 



Examples of its power. 



this great combination, the various individuals have entirely 
different parts to perform, hut all are really united in heart, 
and all their separate and distinct labors tend to the accom- 
plishment of one common result. Money is made use of as 
the instrument, hut it is only an instrument for bringing all 
these scattered labors to bear on the proper point. In the 
great union, too, no one is under obligation to the others 
The account is between each individual and God 
How wonderful 



liirilliBlilliCi!? i 



ire 
the results secured by 
the contrivances and 
arts of life. A soli- 
tary widow, in her 
home among the dis- 
tant forests, knits an 
hour or two at her 
lonely fireside, in order 
to contribute her little 
share to the spread of 
the gospel ; her work 
tells on the minds of 
savages ten thousand 
miles from her humble 
dwelling. A farmer' & 
children cultivate a lit- 
tle piece of ground in their father's garden, and change its 
products in the autumn for a dollar. It passes from their 
hands and they see it no more ; but in a few months, the 
magic metal comes out in the shape of a thousand pages of 
the word of God, and lives for half a century to tell its 
message to the benighted people of some foreign land. A 
timid, and retiring, and fearful daughter of Zion wishes to 
do something for her Master, and she industriously plies her 
*ieed.e during the long winter evenings of a single season, and 




THE WIDOW. 



302 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Radiant points of piety. 



a few months afterward, in consequence of it, a miserable 
and suffering child, whom she never saw, in a country which 
she has scarcely heard of, is told that he can be clothed, and 
fed, and taught, through the instrumentality of a love which 
has reached half round the globe to bring him relief from his 
misery. 

It is important to be noticed here, too, that in one respect, 
the more remote from ourselves is the place where we can 
make any moral impression, the more valuable it will be ; for 
piety, when pure, tends, from its very nature, to spread and 
propagate itself, and therefore, from every point among the 
population of this world, at which we can once give it a foot- 
. ing, we may hope it will extend in a wider and wider circle. 
It is a light which will be the more universally diffused, the 
more its radiant points are multiplied. And yet no error can 
possibly be more fatal than for a Christian to suppose that 
he could atone for the want of heartfelt and efficient piety in 
his own quiet sphere, by magnificent plans of remote and 
doubtful good. The first duty of every follower of the Savior 
is, unquestionably, as we have already shown, at home, — in 
his own inmost soul ; — his next, in his own narrow circle of 
personal influence. These posts must be guarded well by 
every Christian, or else piety will soon lose the little hold she 
has in the world. But maintaining a high standard of Chris- 
tian feeling and action in the small circle in which the indi- 
vidual immediately moves, not only may not be inconsistent 
with extensive and wide-spreading benevolence, but it can not 
be. Looking at a distance and planning with reference to 
remote and unseen results will not only not interfere with the 
progress of piety in the heart, but if such efforts are made 
with honest sincerity, they will be the most effectual means 
of promoting it. But then they must be made in the right 
spirit. The attempt to carry influence in the ways that we 
have described, to other countries, must spring from honest 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 303 

Sincere motives. Piety begins at home. 

desires to co-operate with God. It is this co-operation, and 
the moral effect at which it ought to aim, that must be the 
great stimulus to action, and the pleasure of being a co- 
worker with God must be the reward ; or else such labors 
will only improve and strengthen the spiritual pride, or the 
love of ostentation and display, from which they spring. 

We have thus clearly before us, the nature of the trust 
committed to the members of the Christian church of every 
name ; it is a charge to spread the Gospel as soon as possible 
throughout the globe. We are to consider ourselves as not 
our own, in any sense, but wholly the Lord's, and to regard 
it as our highest happiness to be permitted to identify our- 
selves entirely with the progress of his cause. We are to 
look very watchfully and very faithfully within ; for the best 
way to make religion spread is to keep it pure. We are to 
do every thing that we can to diffuse enjoyment and to in- 
crease the influences of holiness in the little circle in which 
we immediately move ; and we are to look abroad over the 
whole field which human beings occupy, saying with our 
hearts and with our hands, " Thy kingdom come." To 
these duties we should be devoted entirely. Every thing 
should be subsidiary to them : as we can find no true happi- 
ness but in such a work, so we should make no reservations, 
but consecrate every thing to it, and so identify ourselves 
with it, as to have no separate interests wdiatever. The 
share of attention which each of these various departments 
of the great work of spreading the Gospel should in each 
individual case receive, will of course depend upon the cir- 
cumstances of each, but together they should monopolize the 
heart, and be the object of every hour's exertion. 

All this is very good theory, perhaps the reader may say, 
but who lives on these principles hi practice ? Very few, it 
must be admitted, but still there are some who do. The 
parly Christians did, and by means of the example and the 



304 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Success certain. Important trust committed to Christiana. 

efforts which arose from their unreserved consecration of 
themselves to the cause of God in this world, the principles 
of Christianity spread with almost inconceivable rapidity, 
and their progress was not checked until worldliness came in 
to corrupt the hearts of pretended servants of God, and to de- 
troy all the moral power of piety. A long, dark night en- 
sued, and we yet scarcely see much more than the dawn 
which follows it. But the success which has attended the 
faint and feeble efforts which the church has made within 
the last century, show most conclusively that nothing but de- 
voted piety in the church, and the efforts which must inevi- 
tably spring from it, is wanting, to bring back this world to 
its Maker, — and that, too, without any very long delay. 

It is, perhaps, one of the most mysterious features of divine 
government, that God has made human souls so dependent 
upon one another ; but though it seems hard for those who 
must wait unblessed with the light of knowledge and pure 
religion until we send it to them, to be left thus, apparently 
at the mercy of a few unfaithful pretenders to piety, we can 
easily see how kind to us it is for our Maker to repose in us 
such a trust and to assign to us such a duty. To give man 
such an enterprise as this, as the object of his life, exalts and 
ennobles him. It takes him out of the narrow circle of self- 
ishness, and raises him at once above the groveling pursuits 
of sin, and gives him an object worthy the powers of an im- 
mortal spirit. We feel, if we engage in it, linked by a com- 
mon sympathy with all that is great and good in the mighty 
universe of God ; and yet, thus raised, thus exalted as we 
are, by the moral grandeur of the cause which we are per- 
mitted to espouse, there is no place for pride. We feel the 
lofty emotions which our work inspires, on account of the 
moral greatness of the principles which it is its object to dif- 
fuse, and the boundlessness of the field over which they are 
to be extended, and the countless variety and lofty moral 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 305 



Sublimity of the Christian's work. Religious discussion. 

and intellectual rank of the beings who sympathize with u 
or who work by our side, — and the certainty of ultimate ana 
triumphant success. These are the sources of those emotions 
with which the Christian's bosom swells, when he really 
comes and gives himself wholly up to his Master's work ; his 
own private and personal share in results so vast dwindles 
into insignificance, and pride has no soil to which its. roots 
can cling. Man thus, by linking himself with God, and giv- 
ing himself wholly to His work, enjoys the elevation and the 
happiness of greatness, and is saved from its dangers and sins. 

V. RELIGIOUS DISCUSSION. 

We place this title among the subjects brought before the 
reader in this chapter, rather wdth the design of excluding 
than of including it. It is a very doubtful means of doing 
good. Skill in disputation is a weapon very commonly em- 
ployed ; far too commonly ; and our design now is to show its 
nature, and what may fairly be expected from it, and especially 
tn define those limits and restrictions to which such efforts to 
act upon the mind ought to be subjected. Let the reader 
understand, however, while reading the remarks on this sub- 
ject, that, like the rest of this work, they are addressed to 
common Christians, sustaining the ordinary relations and con- 
nections of society. Learned men have sometimes devoteot^A 
their lives to the work of placing on record the evidences 
which their researches have furnished, of the truth and di- 
vine authority of the Scriptures, or of the nature of the truths 
they reveal ; and the works thus produced have been among 
the strongest bulwarks of Christian faith. Our plan does ndtT 
lead us to say any thing of efforts like these : it confines us 
to the attempts continually made to remove religious error, 
by argument and discussion, in the common intercourse of 
life ; attempts which under certain circumstances are wise 
and successful : under others they are far worse than useless. 



306 



THE COPJNTEIt-STONE. 



Early associations. 



Instances. 



Religious discussion has its sole foundation in real or sup- 
posed religious error ; and the nature of religious error is very 
little understood. Let us look at some of its sources. 



1. One great source of erroneous impressions, on all sub- 
jects, is the power of influences exerted in early life, and 
which are sometimes so strong as utterly to bid defiance to 
all argument. Every one has observed the permanency of 
these early impressions of early life in such cases as the fol- 
lowing. A child was 
once terrified, when 
very young, by sud- 
denly seeing a snake 
as it was playing in 
the grass ; and up to 
the age of twenty, he 
retained an unconquer- 
able aversion to the 
animal, so that his 
companions used to 
torment him by forcing 
upon his observation 
pictures of snakes, — 
which wouid over- 
whelm him in an 
agony of terror and suf- 
fering. Another was carried to see a man who was shock- 
ingly mangled by an accidental explosion, in blasting rocks, 
— and fifteen years did not obliterate the impression. During 
all the years of childhood and youth, the effects of gunpowder, 
in every form, were a continual terror to him. Now will 
you endeavor to overcome such feelings by argument ? "Will 
you attempt to prove to these terrified young men that a 




THE HARMLESS SERPENT. 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 307 

Religious antipathies ; beyond the reach of argument. 

picture can not bite, or that the flash of a little squib can not 
endanger them ? 

But the reader will say that these are mere antipathies ; 
they are not of the nature of erroneous convictions enter- 
tained by the understanding. So it is with a very large 
proportion of the dislike to religion, and the disbelief of its 
truths, which prevails in the world ; it is mere antipathy, 
and not deliberate conviction. The cases just adduced to 
illustrate it, are certainly strong ones ; but every man who 
will pause a moment to reflect, must see that a child, brought 
up under the influence of such associations as are in many 
families connected with the religious opinions of those who 
disagree with them, must inevitably, if human nature is 
consistent with itself, form such an antipathy. The antipa- 
thy may have men, or it may have opinions, for its objects, 
but in either case argument, as a corrective, would be utterly 
thrown away. It would not only be entirely insufficient to 
produce a change, but it would scarcely have any tendency 
to produce one. 

A sufficient allowance is not made for this by the opposite 
parties in a religious controversy. If one generation takes 
sides violently, on any question, they inevitably entail the 
quarrel. Their children have scarcely the opportunity to 
judge for themselves. The laws of the human mind almost 
compel them to feel as their fathers felt ; for it becomes in 
such cases, a matter of feeling rather than opinion. No one, 
therefore, ought ever to cherish a harsh or an unkind thought 
toward any one, on account of his religious errors, if his 
father led the way. 

This influence of early associations has more power than 
all other causes put together, in the formation of religious 
opinions. The children of Mahometans become Mahomet- 
ans themselves, without arguments in favor of the Prophet ; 
and in the Christian world religious opinions are hereditary 



308 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Opinions hereditary. Irreligion the cause of error. 

and pass down with exceptions comparatively few and rare, 
from father to son ; so that Popery, and Protestantism, Epis- 
copacy and Dissent, and Presbyterian, Baptist, and Methodist 
opinions occupy, in the main, the same ground from genera- 
tion to generation. It is true, indeed, that argument has 
something to do with this, for though every faith has its 
defenders, to which all have access, still each child hears 
chiefly the voice of the one which its father chooses for it. 
But, notwithstanding this, every intelligent observer of the 
human mind, and especially of the habits and susceptibilities 
of childhood, will at once admit, that other influences than 
those of argument are the efficient ones, in the production of 
these almost universal effects. 

Let no one infer from these undeniable facts, that men are 
not accountable for the exercise of their reason in respect to 
their relations to God. They are accountable. The fact that 
men follow on so blindly after their parents in this, more than 
in any other case, is an indication of the cold indifference of 
the human heart to its religious duty. Parents can not con- 
trol their children's opinions and preferences, on other points, 
so completely ; and they could not here, were not the heart 
so cold, so indifferent, so benumbed in respect to God. "When 
the conscience is aroused, these chains are immediately 
broken, and the soul goes free to think for itself, and to throw 
away its shackles forever. It may escape slowly from their 
thraldom, but escape it will, if any real penitence and any 
real love to God can find a place in the heart. So that what 
is justly to be inferred from these views, is not that men who 
are in error, are innocent, but that they are no more guilty 
than those who believe the truth, and yet live in sin. A 
thousand children, growing up without God, are all guilty for 
thus living in disobedience to his will ; but if they do thus 
live, the question of their religious belief is not of much 
consequence as an indication of their real characters. Their 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 309 

One great distinction. Influence of feelings. Instances. 

belief is probably almost a matter of mere accident ; so that, 
as to their characters, it makes no great difference who is 
right and wrong in theory. Their guilt consists in their im~ 
penitence, which is common to them all, not in their errors, 
in which, from accidental circumstances, each may differ 
from the rest. 

When we look around therefore upon society we should 
make one great distinction in estimating human character, 
and that is, between those who love God and those who love 
him not; and we must remember that from the very fact 
that the latter class do not love duty, they will make no 
honest effort themselves, to learn what it is. They all drink 
in whatever is offered to them in childhood. Some are right, 
and some are wrong ; but, as we have seen, accident has 
been most instrumental in deciding the question in each case, 
and ungodliness is the common foundation on which all 
stand. Induce them to abandon sin, and to return to God 
in any respect, and their eyes will be opened. Act upon the 
heart first, and the intellect will rectify itself afterward ; 
though it will be by steps too hesitating and slow for our 
impatience to tolerate, unless we have considered, more 
attentively than most persons have done, the extreme and 
almost unconquerable reluctance with which the power of 
early associations relinquishes its hold. 

The first source of religious error then, is, the power of 
these associations of early childhood, which reasoning never 
formed, and which she is utterly incompetent to overthrow. 

2. Another very common source of error on all subjects, 
and especially in religion, is the bias of mind produced by 
the influence of the feelings. The danger of such a bias is 
universally understood in common life, and is guarded against, 
in many cases, with great care. Whenever a contention 
arises between two individuals, the friends and connections 



310 THE CORNER-STONE. 

The contention. The consumptive patient. Bias in religion. 

of the respective combatants, with the same facts before their 
eyes, and guided professedly by the same principles of right 
and wrong, form directly opposite opinions, and each party 
adheres to the views which mere feeling has produced, with 
inflexible pertinacity. So when any new speculation or plan 
of improvement is agitated in any community, each man 
will take sides on the question, just as his interests would be 
affected by the results. In the former of these cases it is 
personal attachment, in the latter, pecuniary interest, which 
constitutes the bias ; but any other emotion may produce the 
same effect. We may mention one other case, which, though 
common, is melancholy and affecting in the extreme. How 
often will an unhappy man, conscious that he is unprepared 
for death, sink into the last stages of a lingering disease, 
steeled against all sense of the danger which he does not 
wish to see. His hectic cheek, and gradually sinking powers 
might give him most certain evidence that he is drawing 
near to the grave ; but he shuts his eyes to every indication 
of his danger. Just because he wishes and hopes to be re- 
stored to health, he resolutely persists in believing that resto- 
ration is before him. The delusion, a very happy one, so far 
as its exhilarating power tends to sustain him under his final 
sufferings, but very melancholy in its tendency to keep him 
from finding peace with God, — clings to him to the last ; and 
he sinks under the very hand of death, with an unwavering 
but baseless confidence that health and happiness are soon to 
return. 

This tendency of the human mind is universally known ; 
every man, in consequence of it, almost instinctively distrusts 
the opinions of others, where their feelings or their interests 
are involved in the question ; and a wise man, under such 
circumstances, will distrust his own. 

Perhaps there is no class of subjects on which men are 
more in danger from this source, than those connected wit} 



THE PART1NJ COMMAND. 311 

Sources of bias. Remedies. Inefficacy of argument. 

religion. The various interpretations which are given to the 
declarations of the Bible affect very considerably their force, 
in respect to the degree of restraint they impose upon human 
desires, and to the amount of sacrifice which they require in 
the service of God. A great reason, therefore, in many cases, 
why men can not see the evidence of a particular truth, is 
the practical consequences which flow from it. We see this 
very clearly in those cases where certain abstract views of 
duty relate more or less directly to the common pursuits of 
life, so as to interfere with the business of one man, while 
they leave that of another untouched. The former will 
make great opposition to that which, in the view of the other 
is most obviously and unquestionably true. Now in some- 
such cases, where great and obvious principles of commor. 
morality are concerned, the proper course undoubtedly is, tc 
throw such a blaze of light upon the subject as to force the 
guilty perseverer in sin to see his duty. In regard, however 
to what are more strictly called religions truths, mere argu 
ment in such cases is of little avail. 

A man, for instance, has fully determined to live in sin, 
and perhaps in vice. He does what he knows to be wrong 
from day to day, though conscience, not wholly silenced, 
murmurs feebly in those hours of solitude which he can not 
wholly avoid, — warning him of the danger of a judgment to 
come. He at length is almost accidentally told that there is 
no future retribution. His mind springs spontaneously into 
the belief of it. He needs no argument. He may indeed 
listen to a few reasons, for the purpose of laying them up as 
weapons of defense, but his own belief is, after all, founded 
on his feelings. Now argument and discussion with such a 
man will ordinarily do no good= "While he appears to listen 
to you he is only planning his own reply. Reasoning has 
not placed him in his entrenchment, and reasoning can not 
drive him from it. Must he then, the reader may ask, be 



312 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Hard to acknowledge error. The remedy. 

left hopelessly ? 'No. The truth has an ally and an advo- 
cate in his own breast, which, though he may have silenced 
it. he can not destroy ; and our hope of success is in making 
its warning voice heard again. Bring duty before him ; lead 
him to see that he disobeys God, and that his expected im- 
punity can be no excuse for sin. If he can but see that he 
is a sinner, he will go to the Bible, and that will set him 
right about the future consequences of sin. 

The cases which w r e have considered thus far are those in 
which the mind is led to reject what is true, because the 
truth is in itself unpleasant, on account of the practical duties 
which rest upon it ; but the mind is very often blinded in a 
little different way. Men are often kept in error, not because 
they have any special objection to the truth itself, or to the 
practical consequences in general which result from it, but 
because they are unwilling to acknowledge that they have 
been in the wrong. A man who has always been on one 
side, and is so universally regarded, can not admit that he has 
been mistaken, without feeling mortification himself, and ex- 
citing the ill-will of others. Light however comes in, which 
he secretly perceives is sufficient to show him that he has 
been w r rong ; but he turns his eye away from it, because he 
instinctively feels what must inevitably follow from its ad- 
mission. 

These and similar causes act so universally, that the power 
of reasoning and argument in changing the religious opinions 
of men is exceedingly circumscribed. If men were willing 
to perceive the truth, we should have nothing to do but to 
prove to them what it is ; but proof is so abundant every- 
where, that it will of course come to the soul as fast as it is 
ready and willing to receive it. The first thing then, gene- 
rally, is to get men into the path of duty. They all have 
truth enough to enlighten the beginning of it,- — and- more 
light will certainly shine upon it as they go on. 



THE PARTING COMMAS i>. 313 



Useless disputes. Language misunderstood. Human character. 

There is, however, a vast amount of useless discussion 
arising from religious differences, which the foregoing heads 
of remark will not explain. They who are in some degree 
willing to abandon sin, and do their duty, still see many sub- 
jects in very different lights, and become involved in endless 
disputes respecting them. Some of the more common sources 
of such profitless controversies come next in our enumeration. 

3. Disputes founded on difference in the understanding of 
language. Take, for example, human character. There is 
no field more open to human observation than this, and per- 
haps there are few subjects in regard to the facts of which, 
men are more universally agreed ; and yet there is scarcely 
any one which has given rise to more endless discussions. 

In their practical dealings with mankind, it is plain that 
intelligent men of all parties take substantially the same 
views of human conduct and character. They who, in the 
argument, have the lowest views of the natural character, 
are not more suspicious or severe in practice than others ; 
and those who speak most highly of the native purity and 
the spontaneous virtues of the human heart, are not thrown 
off their guard by their theories. As to the facts, there is, 
and there can be, scarcely any disagreement. We all know 
how men think and feel about God, and on what principles 
they act in relation to one another. No company of bank 
directors, or board of managers, or cabinet council, probably 
ever differed very seriously in respect to the success of pro- 
posed measures, on account of the difference of their views in 
respect to the character and the tendencies of human nature. 
They may belong to very different denominations, and may 
have expressed their views in theory, in conflicting language, 
but when they leave theory, they have no difficulty about 
the facts. 

I speak, of course, here of questions about human chaarac* 





314 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Nature of disputes about it. Misunderstanding. 

ter as it is, not about the feelings with which God regards it ; 
this is evidently a different point, and one in which disagree- 
ment would not necessarily affect the practice, in the com- 
mon business of life. But any real difference in respect to 
the actua.1 extent of the depravity of the heart would affect 
this practice. Now notwithstanding all the disputes with 
which mankind have been agitated on this subject, there is 
harmony when they come to act. The disputes are at once 
forgotten ; men of the most opposite theoretical views work 
side by side, differing in nothing except that they who have 
had the most extensive experience are most completely on 
their guard. 

Now how happens it that under such circumstances there 
should be such a perpetual dispute when there can be after 
all but little real disagreement ? Of course, I refer here, as 
has been remarked before, to a disagreement about the ac- 
tual principles by which human nature is controlled, and not 
to the view which God takes of these principles. How can 
there be such a disagreement ? The explanation is that the 
terms employed in the discussion convey to different individ- 
uals very different ideas. One party understands the lan- 
guage used by the other, in describing human character, as 
implying moral perversion so complete, that the heart would 
take delight in promoting suffering, and would love moral 
evil, in all cases, on its own account, rather than moral 
good. They would expect to see it hating one being because 
he is merciful, and another because he is faithful and true. 
They would expect men with such characters as they sup- 
pose the language in question to imply, would abhor justice 
and mercy, and benevolence, not in those particular cases 
merely where the operation of these principles come into col- 
lision with their own interest, but in the abstract, and uni- 
versally. They would expect to see them applauding cruelty, 
and.admiring black ingratitude, and carrying their principles 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 315 

Dispute grounded on misunderstanding. Ambiguity of common words. 

out into practice by devising misery for all around them, 
merely for the pleasure of witnessing it, and bestowing a 
double share of their malignity upon those who had been 
most friendly to them. 

Such a character as this is what one class of persons under- 
stand by the language used, and in the dispute they merely 
maintain that such depravity as this is not the actual. char- 
acteristic of mankind. Nobody believes that it is, but the 
dispute goes on, one party contending for one view, and the 
other opposing not the opinion of their antagonist, but a 
totally different one ; one which seems equally preposterous 
to both. If they should come to an explanation, the chief 
question would be, simply by what terms they should de- 
scribe what every body sees, and what their practice proves 
that they see substantially alike. 

When we come even to such terms as can, will, freedom, 
"punishment, unity, person, sin, affections, and a hundred 
others, which are the perpetual topics of religious controversy, 
though they are plain and explicit enough in common use, 
they have various shades of signification as terms in a meta- 
physical argument. These shades can not be defined ; they 
elude all attempts to fix them, and yet they very seriously af- 
fect the views a man will form of the proposition into which 
they enter ; and many and many a time controversialists 
have found, after a long discussion, that they had misunder- 
stood each other from the beginning. 

Take, for instance, the first word of the foregoing list. It 
seems a very simple word, and one that is very generally un- 
derstood. So it is, as far as it is necessary for popular use. 
But any person may convince himself that when used fox 
other purposes, it is not understood alike, by making this 
experiment. On some occasions, when ten, or twenty, or 
more individuals, not accustomed to metaphysical specula- 
tions, are together, propose this question : " Can any one of 



316 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Proposed question, and dispute arising from it. 

the company go and lie down in a burning fire ? Consider- 
ing all the circumstances of the case, the nature of fire, his 
dislike of pain, his sound mind, — considering all these cir- 
cumstances, can he do it?" After pausing a moment for 
reflection, so that each individual can form an independent 
judgment, call for a simple answer, — ay, or no. The com- 
pany will probably be about equally divided. The larger 
it is, the more nearly equal generally will be the division. 
If, now, the individuals are allowed to discuss the question, 
each person presenting the view which guided his own vote, 
and then the question is put again, the diversity of opinion 
will still remain, and in ordinary cases the persons questioned 
would never come to an agreement. And yet there is no 
difference of opinion about the facts. Every one knows per- 
fectly well what is the actual fact, as to the poAver of an in- 
dividual in respect to such a case. The whole apparent 
diversity is produced by different ideas as to the precise 
metaphysical signification of the little word can. Practiced 
minds would have no difficulty in such a case ; they would 
immediately define the word, and give two answers according 
to the two significations, and they would be unanimous. 

Now no class of disputes are more common than endless 
discussions which are precisely of such a character as this 
would be. The danger is understood by scholars who are at 
all conversant with the nature of such inquiries, and they 
make very special efforts, though these efforts are often inef- 
fectual, to guard against it. But the mass of mankind are 
very imperfectly aware of this source of difficulty, and they 
involve themselves in endless disputes, — the parties calling 
things by different names, and each combatant astonished at 
the stupidity and obstinacy of the other, in refusing to see 
what is so perfectly plain. 

4. Another source of endless and fruitless discussions, la 



THE PARTING COMMAND. 317 

Unimportant questions. . Pride and self-conceit. 

disputing about questions which can be of no practical con- 
sequence, however they may be decided. Such as the origin 
of sin, the state of the soul between death and the resurrec- 
tion, the salvation of infants, the precise metaphysical rela- 
tionship of the Son to the Father. We have said they are 
of no practical consequence ; of course an ingenious reasoner 
can contrive to connect practical consequences with any sub- 
ject whatever, and in his zeal he will exaggerate the impor- 
tance of the connection. In fact, every subject in the moral 
world is more or less connected with every other one ; noth- 
ing stands out entirely detached and isolated, and conse- 
quently a question which its arguers will admit to be merely 
a theoretical one, will never be found. 

It would of course be absurd to condemn all discussions of 
such points as the above, and others similar to them. The 
calm philosophical consideration of such questions is perfectly 
proper. It is bringing them into the field of religious truth, 
and making them the means of religious divisions, — each 
party jealous and suspicious of those who think differently 
from himself, — and leaving the weightier matters of judg- 
ment, mercy, and faith, in order to wrangle about differences 
which can do at most but little harm :— this is the spirit 
which it is our object to condemn. 

5. The last source of religious error, and useless religious 
disputes which we shall mention, is the pride and self-conceit 
which keeps men from realizing that there is or can be any 
subject which is actually beyond the reach of their powers. 
Men will indeed admit this, in the abstract, but then they 
evince the insincerity of such an acknowledgment, by having 
a distinct and well-defined theory, on every subject which 
can be brought before them. 

But the truth is, and every mind which really reflects on 
its condition and its powers must perceive it, that the beams 



318 THE CORNER-STONE. 

The limited powers of the human mind. Fruitlessness of controversies. 

of reason and revelation, which shine upon our path, afford 
a distinct illumination only for those objects which are im 
mediately around us, and with which we have a direct and 
practical connection. Beyond this circle, and it is a much 
narrower one than is perhaps generally supposed, there is a 
region of doubt and darkness, into which the human mind 
will endeavor in vain to extend its vision. In som^ cases, 
we attempt to define accurately, what from its very nature 
is not susceptible of accurate definition ; we assign exact 
boundaries in our conceptions, when the subject does not ad- 
mit of them in reality. We make sweeping assertions, dis- 
posing of whole classes of subjects at a word : or we take a 
general principle which is perhaps true in the main, and 
carry it out to extremes to which it can not fairly extend . 
We do this either from the influence of an almost universal 
tendency of the human mind to love sweeping generalities, or 
else because it is troublesome to pause, and reflect, and ascer- 
tain exceptions. In fact, a reflecting man will often detect 
himself believing a proposition merely because, when express 
ed, it sounds antithetic and striking, or because it is compre- 
hensive and distinct, and, right or wrong, presents a con- 
venient solution for whole classes of difficulties. The human 
mind will, in a word, run into almost any belief, by which 
it may be saved the labor of patient thought, and at the 
same time avoid the mortification of acknowledging its ig- 
norance. 

From these views of the origin and nature of religious 
error, and of the effect of argument and discussion as a means 
of removing it, it seems to be pretty clear that those endless 
disputes and controversies which are perpetually springing 
up in the common walks of life, by which the peace and 
harmony of families and villages are so often destroyed, are 
labor spent in vain. The Christian endeavors to reason his 



THE PARTING COMMAND 319 

The test of the truth. Sin a disease. Efficacy of remedies. 

brother Christian or his worldly neighbor out of his errors, 
and begins, perhaps, with honest motives, and certainly with 
sanguine hopes of success. But he finds that, however ex- 
clusively he may imagine the truth to he on one side, there 
may be talking on both, and he soon becomes irritated by 
formidable opposition, when he expected an immediate sur- 
render. He soon becomes excited, and forgetting the spirit- 
ual value of the truth, he contends for victory in the contest, 
and if he had any right feeling at the beginning, it is ail 
gone before the conversation is closed. 

The best way for private Christians to prove the truth, is 
to let it exercise its whole power upon their own hearts, and 
then to exhibit its fruits. Try to promote the happiness, and 
to improve the hearts and lives of those around you, and you 
will evince the efficacy, and the value, and the truth of the 
opinions which you hold, better than in any other way. If a 
pestilential disease were raging in a city, and if the commu- 
nity were divided in regard to the method of cure, how pre- 
posterous would it be for those who are well to leave the sick 
and suffering, and suspend all active efforts, and waste their 
time in disputes about the nature of the vital powers, — the 
character of the disease, — and the operation of the various 
remedies. It would be absurd ; but let each one go and try 
his own plan, and the success of the right one will secure its 
universal adoption ; and that too, with a rapidity which will 
be just in proportion to the degree in which all disputing on 
the subject is avoided. In the same manner success in turn- 
ing men to holiness is the great criterion of religious truth. 
It must be so ; the world is full of hearts alienated from God, 
and enslaved to sin ; and nothing but true religion can break 
these chains, and bring back the wanderer to pardon and 
happiness. Let the advocates then, of every system of reli- 
gious truth, go abroad among mankind, and try their remedies. 



320 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Moral power of the truth. The means of propagating it, 

That which is really from Heaven must succeed, and success 
must decide its triumph 

In fact the little progress which religion is making in the 
world is made in this way. Disputes on all subjects which 
are involved in real difficulty, generally result in a division 
of the auditors into parties, proportioned pretty nearly, to the 
abilities of the combatants ; and in religion there is a bias, 
which is altogether on the wrong side ; discussion, therefore, 
here will be peculiarly uncertain in its results. It is the 
visible moral effect- of the truth, which really sustains its 
influence in this world. It is moral poiver, so evident and 
so irresistible, which enables pure Christianity to stand her 
ground ; and every thing which diminishes this, or limits 
the sphere of its influence, or draws off the attention of men 
from it, — every thing of this kind, retards most directly and 
most powerfully the progress of the Savior's cause. Let 
every class of Christians then, who think they love the truth, 
not waste their time in disputing with their neighbors, but 
cherish the pure spirit of piety in their hearts, and cultivate 
in themselves and in all around them, its genuine and happy 
fruits. The Christians' rule of influence is not to endeavor 
to establish the truth in the human intellect by the power of 
subtile disputation ; but " by manifestation of the truth, to 
commend themselves to every man's conscience, in the sight 
of G-od." In other words, we must bring piety forward; its 
nature and tendencies must be made to appear in this world, 
and to stand out in bold and striking relief among the prevail- 
ing miseries and sins. But this must be done, too, with the 
constant conviction that the conscience is the great avenue 
by which the truth is to find access to the human heart, if it 
'3 admitted at all. 






THE PARTING PROMISE. 321 

The command and the promise. The Savior's presence 



CHAPTER X. 

THE PARTING PROMISE, OR THE INFLUENCES OF THE HOL? 

SPIRIT. 

" Lo I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world." 

At the time of our Savior's crucifixion, any one who should 
have looked abroad at the condition and character of man- 
kind, would have pronounced the attempt which the twelve 
disciples were about to make, the most wild and impracticable 
scheme which the human heart could devise. Jesus knew, 
when he commanded his followers to engage in such an 
enterprise, that they would need help. He coupled therefore 
a promise to his command, — the one as remarkable as the 
other. 

The Savior's presence with his followers assists them in 
their work, undoubtedly, in several ways. It cheers and 
sustains them. It gives them guidance and direction in 
difficulty and doubt ; and the feeling that they are always 
with their leader, enjoying his presence and sympathy, gives 
devoted and honest Christians a support in difficulty, and 
trial, and affliction, which nothing else could afford. 

But Jesus had often said before, that men, when turned 
from sin, were turned by an influence from above, which 
influence he was to send down from the Father. We 
can not therefore doubt that in this his parting promise 
he referred in part at least to the co-operation which he 
should himself render them, in ail their efforts to save souls. 

o=& 



322 THE CORI\ T ER-STONE 

Proof3 of it Saul. Difficulties of the subject. 



The disciples understood this, and the first triumphs of 
Christianity were, in a simple but beautiful manner, ascribed 
to him: " And the Lord added to. the church daily, such 
as should be saved." 

Their Master, too, gave the disciples an early and most 
signal proof that he remembered his promise, and was able 
to fulfill it, by changing Saul, their bitterest and most power- 
ful foe, to their most devoted and most efficient friend. The 
apostle always attributed his conversion to the direct inter- 
position of his Savior ; and with such proofs as the early 
Christians thus had, that a divine and unwonted influence 
was exerted upon human hearts, in connection with their 
efforts, they could not but take courage, and press on in a 
cause, which, without such aid, must have been very soon 
abandoned. 

We have the same evidence now, as I intend to show in 
this chapter, by a narrative of facts, — such as are in sub- 
stance very common in modern times, and which prove that 
the enterprise of bringing the world back to God is not a 
hopeless one. The narrative will show too that the same 
kind of aid, so indispensable to success in such a cause as 
this, is still rendered. Before coming to it, however, a few 
considerations respecting the general subject must first be 
offered. 

There are certainly great difficulties connected with the 
truth that whenever men turn away from their sins and enter 
God's service it is through spiritual life which he awakens 
in the soul. Into these difficulties, we do not now propose to 
enter. "We feel and know that men are free and accounta- 
ble ; the Bible most explicitly states, too, that all holy desires 
in the human heart come from God. If, however, the ques- 
tion is raised how holy feeling can be the spontaneous move- 
ment of the moral agent which exercises it, and yet be the 
gift of God, we may lose ourselves in boundless perplexities, 



THE PARTING PROMISE. 323 

Subject obscure. Plausible reasoning not to be relied upon. 

and return from the fruitless pursuit more dissatisfied than 
ever. The difficulty is, however, in the subject, rather than 
in the truth; that is, it appertains to a whole field of 
thought, and not to one particular proposition. It is difficult 
for us to understand how a being can he created at all, with- 
out having his character determined by the act of creation. 
If the question, what his first moral acts shall be, is deter- 
mined by any thing, it would seem that it must be by 
something in his moral constitution, as it was framed by his 
Maker ; and if it is not determined by any thing, it must, 
one would think, be left a matter of pure accident ; and that 
which is a matter of pure accident, can not be of a moral 
nature. "We might thus make out a very respectable argu- 
ment a priori, that a free moral agent can not be created ; 
as creating power, unless it leaves the moral character a 
matter of mere accident, must do something to determine it, 
in which case it would seem that it is itself responsible for 
the acts which follow. 

It will of course be understood that we do not offer this 
argument as a sound one, — but only as plausible reasoning 
which is not to be relied upon, on account of the obscurity 
and difficulty of the whole subject. Take for instance the 
question suggested by the last lines of the preceding para- 
graph ; — can creative power really determine the character 
of the being which it forms, without being itself morally re- 
sponsible for that character. It is a question which might 
be disputed by philosophers for ages, without victory on either 
side. The difficulty is in the subject. Wherever we ap- 
proach it all is obscurity and doubt. On such a subject we 
can not trust our reasonings, nor believe our conclusions. 

There is no objection, perhaps, to an occasional discussion 
of such points, by Christians, if conducted with the same feel- 
ings with which we should investigate any other difficult 
question in metaphysics or philosophy : but we must not 



324 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Ambiguity of language. Facts are plain ; the theory obscure. 

bring such discussions into the region of religious feeling and 
duty, and press upon our fellow- Christians the theories which 
w r e may ourselves be led to form. What human minds see 
so imperfectly, they never see alike. On such subjects they 
can not agree. What is substance to one, is shadow to an- 
other : and a thought which, from one point of view, has one 
set of aspects and relations, from a different one has another, 
totally diverse. Besides, in the higher regions of metaphysi- 
cal investigation, words, as a medium of communication, if 
not as a medium of thought, lose their significancy, and thus 
even the conceptions which we have, though perhaps clear 
in the mind, can not be clearly expressed. In fact, the 
human intellect, when it roams away into the profound 
recesses of metaphysical philosophy, can lead on other minds 
but a very little way. Intercourse by language very soon 
fails. We endeavor, by nice definition, and careful etymo- 
logical discrimination, to lead it en as far as it will go ; and 
it is often long before its growing inadequacy is understood 
and felt. It must, however, at last be abandoned, and the 
mind then, if it advances at all, must advance alone and 
silently. It perceives truths, or at least, it forms conceptions 
which it can not communicate, and when at last, bewildered 
in the increasing perplexity of the labyrinth, it gives over, 
and returns, it can never convey to another mind any precise 
idea of the point to which it had gone. 

Now nearly all the disputes on this subject which have 
agitated the church, lie in that doubtful region, where the 
mind can see but dimly, and must report even more dimly 
than it sees. Language has lost its power, though he who 
uses it does not perceive its weakness ; and hence the discus- 
sions are made up almost entirely of explanations and cor- 
rections, and definitions of terms, and charges of misunder- 
standing or misrepresentation. We had better leave the 
whole ground. Believe what the Bible says, and look at the 



THE PARTING PROMISE. 325 

Moral dependence on God. Waiting for the Spirit. 



confirmations of it afforded so abundantly by experience, and 
leave discussions of theories for a future day. 

We come then to the facts in the case, which are, that 
men will not turn away from sin, and begin, with broken- 
hearted penitence, to serve God, without his aid. There is 
no way of inducing them to do it. You can bring clearly 
before them the obligations which they are under to God, but 
if they still prefer the world and sin, what more can you do ? 
You can exhibit the moral beauty of gratitude, but if you 
exhibit it to a heart naturally ungrateful, if such an one 
should be found, what good would it do ? You can not prove 
that if a man has received kindness from another he ought 
to show kindness in return. If the person whom you address 
does not perceive this truth at once, there is nothing to be 
said about it ; argument would be utterly unavailing. In 
the same manner, if he sees it, but does not feel it, you can 
not alter his heart by reasoning. 

There is a mistaken view of man's moral dependence, 
which in some cases produces one very bad effect. Persons 
sometimes think that the power to renew them is so com- 
pletely in their Maker's hands that they must wait for him 
to exercise it. They seem to have the impression that God 
will repent for them, and they are looking to him to do it. 
Inow this is very evidently absurd. The Holy Spirit will 
never repent for you ; no, never. From the very nature of 
things that never can be. You must repent yourself, though 
if you do it, it will be in the exercise of spiritual power sup- 
plied from on high. 

Xor is the sinner to wait, as many seem inclined to do, 
until he perceives that the spiritual power by which he is to 
exercise penitence is furnished to him. The first holy action 
of the renewed soul is simultaneous with moral renewal. 

The absurdity of such passive waiting to be acted upon, 
may be well illustrated by some of the miracles of the Savior. 



326 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



The mar v.itli a withered hand. 



.:M 



til 




THE WITHERED HAND. 



A man, for example, 
comes to Jesus Christ 
with a withered hand. 
It hangs lifeless by his 
side. It is insensible 
and motionless, a sym- 
bol of the moral condi- 
tion of the human soul 
when dead in sin. He 
asks help from the Sa- 
vior ; and what is the 
reply ? " Stretch forth 
thine hand." 

" How can I stretch 
: t forth ? Its utter life- 
lessness," might the 



poor patient say to the 
Savior, " is the very reason why I bring it to thee. I can 
not stretch it forth unless its life and power are previously 
restored.' \ 

" Stretch forth thine hand," is however the command, 
and though we might gather innumerable theoretical diffi- 
culties about such a command, there are none in practice. 
The patient obeys. The very instant of exertion on his part, 
is the very instant of returning life and power. His hand 
obeys his volition. It obeys it however by a power which 
a supernatural interposition supplied. He could not have 
raised his arm without external aid, and on the other hand, 
he could not have external aid, without making the effort. 

Now every person, who, after understanding God's com- 
mands, defers obedience until the power of the Holy Spirit 
is exerted upon him to lead him to it, seems to be almost 
precisely in the condition of the man with the withered hand, 
if, after the Savior had directed him to stretch it forth, he 



THE PARTING PROMISE. 327 

Faults and errors. We must be born again. 

had stood waiting, before he made the effort, to have life 
restored to it. He must feel, he thinks, the blood beginning 
to circulate, and sensation returning, before he has any thing 
to do ! His arm would, in such a case, remain withered for- 
ever. So the soul which has sunk into the lethargy of wait 
ing for God's Spirit, may wait forever in vain. Man mus) 
repent himself. He must love God himself ; he must aban 
don sin, himself. God will not do the work for us ; he will 
only infuse the spiritual vitality by which it is to be done. 

It is melancholy to observe that when the word of God, or 
the obvious principles of duty, mark out a straight course, 
man will find devious and wandering paths, turning off to 
the right and to the left, — any way, just to avoid the narrow 
path of duty. One class of persons, interested, or professing 
to be interested, in the question of their salvation, fold their 
arms in quiet inaction, waiting, as they say, for influences 
from above to lead them to their duty. Others, aroused 
perhaps from this condition, go zealously to work to purchase 
their salvation, — to fabricate repentance and faith by their 
own power alone. Self-confident, self-sufficient, and filled 
with spiritual pride, they think to turn their own hearts to 
God, without receiving any new life from him. Brought 
back from their wanderings upon one side of the truth, away 
they go immediately upon the other, in an error as danger 
ous, nay, as fatal as before. For, after all, it makes little 
difference whether a man gives up the kingdom of heaven 
altogether, or attempts to enter it without being born again. 
In either case, he continues dead in trespasses and sins. The 
difference is, that, in the one, he lies in acknowledged life- 
lessness,— in the other, his cadaverous form is clothed in the 
garments, and placed in the attitude of life ; but stiffened 
limbs, and a countenance of death-like expression betray its 
case. We must he horn again. 

The modes and forms which moral renewal by the Holy 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Influences of the Spirit, Various effects. 

Spirit assumes in the soul are innumerable ; and the truths 
which seem to he employed as the means of affecting the 
heart are almost equally varied. All that we know is, that 
while the mass of mankind go on obstinately in sin, individ- 
uals of every possible character, and in every variety of cir- 
cumstances, do repent and return to duty. Sometimes it is 
the little child, knowing scarcely any thing but that it has a 
Maker ; again, it is some hardened and violent opposer of God 
and religion, who throws down his weapons and comes hum- 
bled and broken-hearted to the foot of the cross. Sometimes 
one well instructed in religious truth, and faithfully warned 
of guilt and of danger, will, after years of indifference and 
thoughtlessness, suddenly relent and come to the Savior, and 
at others whole communities will be aroused ; and though 
they could before be affected by no exhortations, and no re- 
monstrances, they will now suddenly awake, and flock in 
crowds to the service of God. The Holy Spirit can operate 
anywhere and with any means. Sometimes he whispers 
gently to a single one in solitude, — sometimes he spreads 
solemnity over the crowded meeting. To-day he gives mean- 
ing and power to the Scriptures, as the reader, at his lonely 
fireside, seeks their guidance, — to-morrow he indites a prayer, 
or gives to reflections which have been utterly unable to 
affect the heart, power to overwhelm it with emotion, or 
brings up sins which have been looked upon with cold un- 
concern, in their true character, and draws them out before 
the soul in gloomy array. He awakens conscience, and quick- 
ens the memory ; he disrobes the world of her alluring garb, 
and gives a spiritual meaning to the events of Providence. 
Life, seen by the light which he brings into the soul, wears 
its own serious and sober hue : eternity rises, — its distant 
realities draw near, — doubts and uncertainties vanish, and 
the soul to which this heavenly messenger is sent, walks forth 
redeemed from sin, purified from pollution, set free from its 



THE PARTING PROMISE. 329 



The narrative. A New England college. The buildings. 

chains, and with its powers expanded and its aims and views 
enlarged, prepared henceforth to be a holy and happy child 
of God, instead of the degraded and polluted child of sin. 

Now it is aid like this that Christians are to look for, when 
they endeavor to promote the cause of religion in the world, 
and it seems to be rendered just in proportion to the humility 
and sincerity and devotedness of the efforts which are made. 
Bad feelings and sinister aims are so often mingled with 
Christian zeal, and so often assume its form, that in ordinary 
cases we have a sad mixture of the fruits of genuine piety 
with those of hypocrisy and sin. There is, however, such a 
thing as moral renewal by means of unwonted influences 
upon human hearts, which the ordinary operations of the 
mind can not explain. The following narrative is not an ac- 
count of a very uncommon case. It is a specimen of hun- 
dreds which have occurred within a few years in our land, 
and which have been fully equal to this in its results. An 
„ctaai case like this, narrated particularly, may give the 
reader a more vivid conception of what co-operation from 
abuve Christians may expect, than general remarks upon the 
promises which the Scriptures contain. Such cases certainly 
afford a striking commentary upon the Savior's words, " Lo, I 
am with you alway, even unto the end of the world." 

THE COLLEGE REVIVAL. 

As probably but few of my readers have had opportunity 
to form any acquaintance with the interior of a New England 
college, or with the nature of college life, I must commence 
my narrative with a description of the place in which the 
scene is laid. 

The appearance which a New England college exhibits to 
a traveler, is that of a group of large brick- buildings, gene- 
rally a hundred feet long, and four stories high, standing 
usually upon an eminence, or upon a level plain, on the bor- 



330 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



The classes. 



ders of some quiet country village. The buildings are con- 
nected with one another, and approached from various direc- 
tions, by graveled walks, and perhaps ornamented with 
shrubbery ; and one among them, distinguished usually by a 
form somewhat different from the rest, and surmounted by a 
sort of cupola, indicates that the whole constitutes some pub- 
lic establishment. 




THE COLLEGE. 



A fresh admission of students takes place in the autumn 
of each year, consisting ordinarily of young men, from twenty 
years of age down to thirteen. These students are united 
into one class, and commence one course of study, which ex- 
tends through a period of four years. During these four 
years there will, of course, be three more admissions, making 
four classes and <mly four, in the institution at the sama 
time 



THE PARTING PROMISE. 331 



The first day. Temptations. Varieties of character. 

The large buildings which I have alluded to are divided 
into rooms, as nearly alike as possible ; — eight usually upon 
a floor, and consequently thirty-two in all. Each one of 
these rooms is assigned to two of the members of the class 
admitted, and it is to be for one year their home. The first 
day of the collegiate year, those portions of the building as- 
signed to the Freshmen, as the last admitted are called, ex- 
hibit a scene of very peculiar and striking character. The 
bustle of preparation, — moving in, and putting up furniture, 
— the interest excited by the novelty of the mode of life that 
these novitiates are now to lead, and the lingering recollec- 
tions of home, left perhaps forever,— resolutions of diligence 
and fidelity hi the course of study before them, — and the va- 
rious other feelings excited by the new and strange faces and 
objects around, all conspire to give to the freshman's first 
day at college a marked and striking character, and to fill it 
with new and strong emotions which he never can forget. 

In every class there is a large number of youthful mem- 
bers, whose parents' situation in life is such that they have 
been the objects of constant attention from infancy, and have 
accordingly been early fitted for college, and sent to the in- 
stitution before their minds are sufficiently matured, and their 
moral principles firmly enough established, to resist the new 
and strong temptations to which they are henceforth to be 
exposed. Others are older and more mature. Many of these 
have prepared themselves for college by their own exertions, 
and have entered under the influence of strong desires to 
avail themselves of its privileges. In these two classes may 
be found almost every variety of human character. Every 
virtue and every vice here exhibit themselves. There is in- 
fidelity, — cold, calculating, malicious infidelity,— -establishing 
her wretched reign in the bosoms of young men just opening 
into manhood. There is vice, secret and open, of every spe- 
cies, and in every degree. There is intemperance and pro 



332 



THE CORNER-STONE 



Dangers. 



The progress of sin. 




faneness, and hatred of religion, and an open and reckless op- 
position to the cause of God and holiness, scarcely ever sur- 
passed by the animosity of any veteran foe. 

The lines between the enemies and the friends of Goa are 
thus drawn in college more distinctly than in almost any 
other community ;— and the young and inexperienced in every 
new class, are marked out by the idle, dissipated, and aban- 
doned, for their prey. The victim first listens to language 
and sentiments which undermine his regard for the principles 
of duty, and weaken those cords which Christian parents had 
bound around his heart, when he left his early home ; and 

he soon falls more and 
more under the influ- 
ence of these ungodly 
companions. Half al- 
lured by their persua- 
sions, and half com- 
pelled by their rude in- 
trusions into his room, 
he* spends the hours 
which college laws al- 
lot to study, in idle 
reading, or in games of 
chance or skill. He 
first listens to ridicu le 
of religious persons, and 
then joins in it, and 
next begins to ridicule 
and despise religion itself. The officers of the college do all 
in their power to arrest his progress. They see the first indi- 
cations of his beginning to go astray, in the neglect .of his 
studies, and in the irregularity of his attendance upon college 
duties ; and again and again appoint one of their number to 
warn him, and expostulate with him, and kindly to put him 




THE INTRUSION. 



THE PARTING PROMISE. 333 



Efforts to reclaim a wanderer. Daily college life. 

on his guard. How many such efforts have I made ! As I 
write these paragraphs, I can recall these interviews to mind 
with almost the distinctness of actual vision. A short time 
after sending the messenger for the one who was to receive 
the friendly admonition, I would hear his timid rap at the 
door. He would enter with a look of mingled guilt, fear, and 
shame, or sometimes with a step and countenance of assumed 
assurance. How many times in such circumstances, have I 
tried in vain to gain access to the heart ! I have endeavored 
to draw him into conversation about his father and mother 
and the scenes of home and childhood, that I might insensi- 
bly awaken recollections of the past, and bring back long lost 
feelings, and reunite broken ties, I have tried to lead him 
to anticipate the future, and see the dangers of idleness, dis- 
sipation, and vice. I have endeavored to draw forth and en 
courage the feeble resolution, and by sympathy, and kind- 
ness, and promises of aid, to bring back the wanderer to duty 
and to happiness. He would listen in cold and respectful 
silence, and go away unchanged ; perhaps, to make a few 
feeble resolutions, soon to be forgotten ; but more probably to 
turn into ridicule the moral lecture, as he would call it, which 
he had received ; and to go on with a little more caution and 
secrecy perhaps, but with increased hardihood and rapidity, 
in the course of sin. 

In many cases, college censures and punishments frequent- 
ly follow, until expulsion closes the story. In other cases, the 
individuals conceal their guilt, while they become more and 
more deeply involved hi it, and more and more hardened. 
They associate with one another, and at length, in some 
cases, form a little community where ungodliness, infidelity, 
and open sin, have confirmed and unquestioned sway. 

I must say a word or two now in regard to the ordinary 
routine of daily life at college, in order that the description 
which is to follow, may be better understood. Very early 



334 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Morning. 



The prayer bell. 



Morning prayers. 



Recitations, 




in the morning, the observer may see lights at a few of the 
windows of the buildings inhabited by the students. They 
mark the rooms occupied by the more industrious or more 
resolute, who rise and devote an hour or two to their books 
by lamp-light on the winter mornings. About the break of 
day, the bell awakens the multitude of sleepers in all the 
rooms, and in a short time they are to be seen issuing from 
the various doors, with sleepy looks, and with books under 
their arms, and some adjusting their hurried dress. The first 
who come down, go slowly, others with quicker and quicker 
step, as the tolling of the bell proceeds : — and the last few 
stragglers run with all speed, to secure their places before the 
bell ceases to toll. When the last stroke is sounded, it usu- 
ally finds one or two too late, who stop short suddenly, and 
return slowly to their rooms. 

The President or one of the professors reads a portion of 
Scripture by the mingled light of the pulpit lamps and the 
beams which come in from the reddening eastern sky. He 
then offers the morning prayer. The hundreds of young men 
before him exhibit the appearance of respectful attention, 
except that four or five, appointed for the purpose, in differ- 
ent parts of the chapel, are looking carefully around to ob- 
serve and note upon their bills, the absentees. A few also, 
not fearing God or regarding their duty, conceal under their 
cloaks, or behind a pillar, or a partition between the pews, 
the book which contains their morning lesson : — and attempt 
to make up, as well as the faint but increasing light will en- 
able them, for the time wasted in idleness or dissipation on 
the evening before. When prayers are over, the several 
classes repair immediately to the rooms assigned respectively 
to them, and recite the first lesson of the day. 

During the short period which elapses between the recita- 
tion and the breakfast-bell, college is a busy scene. Fires 
are kindling in every room. Groups are standing in every 



THE PARTING PROMISE. 335 

The breakfast hour. Study hours. The idle and negligent. The afternoon. 

corner, or hovering around the newly-made fires ; — parties are 
running up and down the stairs two steps at a time, with all 
the ardor and activity of youth : — and now and then, a fresh 
crowd is seen issuing from the door of some one of the build- 
ings, where a class has finished its recitation, and comes forth 
to disperse to their rooms ; — followed by their instructor, 
who walks away to his house in the village. The break- 
fast-bell brings out the whole throng again, and gathers them 
around the long tables in the Common's Hall, or else scatters 
them among the private families in the neighborhood. 

An hour after breakfast the bell rings, to mark the com- 
mencement of study-hours ; — and then the students are re- 
quired by college laws to repair to their respective rooms, 
which answer the three-fold purpose of parlor, bed-room, and 
study, to prepare for their recitation at eleven o'clock. They, 
however, who choose to evade this law, can do it without 
much danger of detection. The great majority comply, but 
some go into their neighbors' rooms to receive assistance in 
their studies, some lay aside the dull text-book, and read a 
tale, or play a game ; and^fethers, farther gone in the road of 
idleness and dissipation, steal secretly away from college, and 
ramble in the woods, or skate upon the ice, or find some 
rendezvous of dissipation in the village, evading their tasks 
like truant boys. They, of course, are marked as absent ; 
but pretended sickness will answer for an excuse, they think, 
once or twice, and they go on, blind to the certainty of the 
disgrace and ruin which must soon come. 

The afternoon is spent like the forenoon, and the last reci- 
tation of the winter's day takes place just before the sun goes 
down. An hour is allotted to it, and then follow evening 
prayers, at the close of which the students issue from the 
chapel, and walk in long procession to supper. 

It is in the evening, however, that the most striking pecu 
liarities of college life exhibit themselves. Sometimes liter 



336 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Evening. College mischief. Frequent consequences. 

ary societies assemble, organized and managed by the students, 
where they hold debates, or entertain each other with dec- 
lamations, essays, and dialogues. Sometimes a religious 
meeting is held, attended by a portion of the professors of re 
ligion, and conducted by an officer ; at other times, the stu- 
dents remain in their rooms, some quietly seated by their fire, 
one on each side, reading, writing, or preparing the lessons 
for the following morning — others assemble for mirth and 
dissipation, or prowl around the entries and halls, to perpetrate 
petty mischief, breaking the windows of some hapless Fresh- 
man, — or burning nauceous drug s at the keyhole of his door, 
— or rolling logs down stairs, and running instantly into a 
neighboring room so as to escape detection ; — or watching at 
an upper window to pour water unobserved upon some fel- 
low-student passing in or out below ; — or plugging up the 
keyhole of the chapel door, to prevent access to it for morn- 
ing prayers ; — or gaining access to the bell by false keys, and 
cutting the rope, or filling it with water to freeze during the 
night : — or some other of the thousand modes of doing mis- 
chief, to which the idle and fLexiWe Sophomore is instigated 
by some calculating and malicious mischief-maker in a higher 
class. After becoming tired of this, they gather together in 
the room of some dissolute companion, and there prepare 
themselves a supper, with food which they have plundered 
from a neighboring poultry-yard, and utensils obtained in some 
similar mode. Ardent spirit sometimes makes them noisy . 
— and a college officer, at half-past nine, breaks in upon 
them, and exposure and punishment are the consequences ; — 
disgrace, suspension, and expulsion for themselves, and bleeding 
hearts for parents and sisters at home. At other times, with 
controlled and restrained indulgence, they sit till midnight, 
sowing the bitter seeds of vice ; undermining health, destroy- 
ing all moral sensibility, and making almost sure the ruin of 
their souls. 



THE PARTING PROMISE. 337 

Efforts of the officers. Their fruitlessness. Amherst College in April, 1827. 

In the mean time the officers of the institution, with a 
fidelity and an anxious interest, which is seldom equaled by 
any solicitude except that which is felt by parents for their 
children, struggle to resist the tide. They watch, they ob- 
serve, they have constant records kept, and in fact, they go 
as far as it is possible to go, in obtaining information about 
the character and history of each individual, without adopt- 
ing a system of espionage, which the nature of the institution, 
and the age of a majority of the pupils, render neither prac- 
ticable nor proper. They warn every individual who seems 
to be in danger, with greater and greater distinctness, accord- 
ing to the progress that he seems to be making, and as soon 
as evidence will justify it, they remove every one whose stay 
seems dangerous to the rest ; but still the evil will increase, 
in spite of all the ordinary human means which can be 
brought against it. 

Such is college, and such substantially was the condition 
of Amherst College, in April, 1827, at the time of my narra- 
tive. Faithful religious instruction was given on the Sab- 
bath, at the chapel, where the students were required to 
attend, and we were accustomed to hold, also, a meeting for 
familiar religious instruction one evening during the week. 
At this meeting, however, scarcely any were present ; — a 
small portion of the actual members of the church were 
accustomed to attend, but never any one else. If a single 
individual, not professedly a Christian, had come in, for a 
single evening, it would have been noticed as a rare occur- 
rence, and talked of by the officers as something unexpected 
and extraordinary. Our hearts ached, and our spirits sunk 
within us, to witness the coldness and hardness of heart to- 
ward God and duty, which reigned among so large a num- 
ber of our pupils. Every private effort which we could 
make with individuals, entirely failed, and we could see, too, 
that those who professed to love the Savior, were rapidly 

P 



333 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



A Etudent. Letter to the author. Writer's account of the co ndition of college. 

losing their interest in his cause, and becoming engrossed in 
literary ambition and college rivalry, dishonoring God's cause, 
and gradually removing every obstacle to the universal prev- 
alence of vice and sin. 

There was then in college, a young man, who had been 
among the foremost in his opposition to religion. His talents 
and his address gave him a great deal of personal influence, 
which was of such a character as to be a constant source of 
solicitude to the government. He was repeatedly involved 
in difficulties with the officers on account of his transgressions 
of the College laws, and so well known were his feelings on 
the subject, that when at a government meeting, during the 
progress of the revival, we were told with astonishment, by 
the President, that this young man was suffering great dis- 
tress on account of his sins, it was supposed by one of the 
officers, that it must be all a pretense, feigned to deceive the 
President, and make sport for his companions. The Presi- 
dent did not reply to the suggestion, but went to visit him ; 
and when I next saw him, he said, " There's no p?'ete?zse 
there. If the Spirit of God is not at work upon his heart, 
I know nothing about the agency of the Spirit." 

That young man is now the pastor of a church, active and 
useful, and when commencing this narrative, I wrote to him 
to send me such reminiscences of this scene as might remain 
upon his mind. He writes me thus. 




" Very dear Sir, 

"My obligations to you as a friend and instructor make me 
anxious to fulfill my promise of drawing up a sketch of the 
revival at Amherst College, during the last two or three 
weeks of April, 1827. I have been delayed partly by sick- 
ness, and by the unusual pressure of my duties here, partly 
by the difficulty of settling in my mind a clear idea of what 
you wish, and partly by the impossibility of reviving the 



THE PARTING PROMISE. 339 

Animosities and irregularities. - The President's efforts. 

memory of facts and impressions in the exact order of their 
occurrence. If this communication should reach you too late 
to answer your purpose, it will at least prove my wish to 
yield you such assistance as I may. 

"For a considerable time previous, the subject of religion 
in college had fallen into great neglect ; — even the outward 
forms were very faintly observed. During nearly two years 
in which I had been connected with the college, I had never 
heard the subject mentioned among the students, except as 
matter of reproach and ridicule. At least this is true, so far 
as my intercourse with the students was concerned. Those 
who professed piety, either through timidity or unconcern, 
seemed to let the subject rest, and were chiefly devoted to 
indolence or literary ambition. But while religion was 
shamed and fugitive, irreligion was bold and free. A ma- 
jority of the students were avowedly destitute of piety ; and 
of these a large portion were open or secret infidels ; and 
many went to every length they could reach, of levity, pro 
faneness, and dissipation. So many animosities and irregu- 
larities prevailed, as to endanger the general reputation of 
the seminary. 

"Some of the students who were differently situated from 
myself, may perhaps have noticed preparatory movements 
on the common mass of mind, indicating an undercurrent of 
feeling, gradually gaming strength, and preparing the com- 
munity for the results which w T ere to follow. But I saw 
none ; — and none such could have been generally apparent. 
Upon myself, the change opened with as much suddenness as 
power. " 

I here interrupt, for a moment, the narrative of my friend, 
to mention all the indications which I, myself, or my brother 
officers perceived. The President, with faithfulness, and 
plainness, urged upon the professors of religion, their duties 



340 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Their success. 



Attention arrested. 



Interest at the chapel. 



and their neglect, and held up to them the evidences that 
they were, as a body, wandering from duty, and becoming 
unfaithful to their trust. But he had done this, often, "before. 
In fact, he was in the habit of doing it. The difference 
seemed to be, that though heretofore they would listen with 
stupid coldness, and go away unchanged, — now they sud- 
denly seemed inspired with a disposition to hear, and with a 
heart to feel. They began to come in greater numbers to 
the meetings appointed for them, and to listen with silent 
solemnity to warnings and expostulations which had been 
always unheeded before. All the efforts which were made 
were aimed at leading Christ's followers to penitence, and at 
bringing them back to duty. And though it had been im- 
possible before, it was perfectly easy now ; and while this 
very work was going on, — actually before the time had come 
for thinking of the others, — the professing Christians began 
spontaneously, or at least to all appearance without human 
exertion, to tremble for themselves. The officers and the 
religious students were astonished day after day to find num- 
bers whom no faithfulness of expostulation had hitherto been 
able to affect at all, now coming, of their own accord, and 
asking for help and direction ; trembling with anxiety and 
remorse on account of their past sins, and with fear of God's 
displeasure. But to return to my correspondent. 



" The first circumstance which attracted my attention 
was a sermon from the President, on the Sabbath. I do not 
know what the text and subject were, for according to a 
wicked habit, I had been asleep till near its close. I seemed 
to be awakened by a silence which pervaded the room : a 
deep solemn attention such as seems to spread over an assem- 
bly when all are completely engrossed in some absorbing 
theme. I looked around astonished, and the feeling of pro- 
found attention seemed to settle on myself. I looked toward 



THE PARTING PROMISE. 341 

Impression, Singular plan adopted by the students. 

the President, and saw him calm and collected, but evi- 
dently most deeply interested in what he was saying, — his 
whole soul engaged, and his countenance beaming with 
an expression of eager earnestness, which lighted up all 
his features, and gave to his language unusual energy and 
power. 

" What could this mean ? I had never seen a speaker 
and his audience so engaged. He was making a most 
earnest appeal to prevent those who were destitute of reli- 
gion themselves, from doing any thing to obstruct the pro- 
gress of the revival which he hoped was approaching — or of 
doing any thing to prevent the salvation of others, even if 
they did not desire salvation for themselves. He besought 
them, by all the interests of immortality, and for the sake of 
themselves, and of their companions, to desist from hostilities 
against the work of God. 

" The discourse closed, and we dispersed. But many of 
us carried away the arrow in our hearts. The gayest and 
the hardiest trembled at the manifest approach of a sublime 
and unwonted influence. Among some who might have 
been expected to raise the front of opposition, I resolved not 
to do it, but to let it take its course: — keeping away from 
its influence, without doing any thing to oppose it ; but neu- 
trality was impossible." 

I must interrupt the narrative of the letter again, to ex- 
plain a circumstance which I perceive is alluded to in the 
next paragraph. About a year before this time, there had 
been similar indications of a returning sense of duty to God 
among the students. The officers were much encouraged, 
but our hopes were all dispelled by the success of a manosuver 
which is so characteristic of college life and manners that I 
will describe it. The plan adopted by the enemies of reli 
gion was to come up boldly, and face the aw T akening interest. 




342 THE CORNER-STONE, 

The evening meeting. The intruders. An enemy turned to a friend, 

and, as it were, brave it down. The first indication of this 
design which I perceived was this. I had been invited by 
the serious portion of the students to address them one Satur- 
day evening in a recitation-room. I took my seat in the great 
armed-chair which had been placed for me in a corner, with 
a Bible and hymn-book on the oval leaf or tablet attached 
to it, — an article of furniture whose form and fashion any col- 
legian will recollect, — when the door opened, and in walked, 
one after another, six or eight of the most bold, hardened, 
notorious enemies of religion which the institution contained. 
They walked in, took their seats, in a row directly before me, 
and looked me in the face, — saying by their countenances 
most distinctly, " Sir, we defy you, and all your religion :" — 
and yet, it was with that peculiar address, with which a wild 
college student can execute his plans, so that there was not 
the slightest breach of any rule of external propriety, or any 
tangible evidence of intentional disrespect. Not one of them 
had, perhaps, ever been voluntarily in a religious meeting 
at college before, and every one in the room knew it. I can 
gee the leader now, as distinctly as if he were before me : — 
his tall' form, manly countenance, and energetic look. He 
maintained his ground as the enemy of God and religion, 
for a year after this time : — but then, his eyes were opened : 
he prayed with agony of spirit, hour after hour, in his open 
room, for forgiveness ; and now he is in a foreign land 
preaching to pagans the Savior, whom I vainly endeavored 
on this occasion to bring to him. I do not know whether 
this description will ever reach him ; if it does, he will 
remember the meeting in the Freshman recitation-room, — 
and be as bold for God noiv, as he was then against him. 
He has been so already. 

After a few similar efforts to this, the irreligious party, for 
it is almost a trained and organized party, determined to 
carry their system farther still. They accordingly formed 



THE PARTING PROMISE. 343 

A strange assembly. Success of a bad design. 

a plan for a religious meeting from which every friend of 
religion should be excluded. They circulated the informa- 
tion among themselves, taking special pains to secure the 
attendance of every one, and then, one evening, after prayers, 
as the officers were coming out of the chapel, one of them was 
astonished at being accosted by two well-known enemies of 
every thing like piety, who appeared, as they said, from some 
of their friends, as a committee to invite him to attend a reli- 
gious meeting that evening. The officer promised to come ; 
and when, after tea, he repaired to the room, he found it 
crowded with persons, whose faces he had never seen at a 
voluntary meeting before. There they sat, the idle, the dis- 
sipated, the profane, and the hater and despiser of God ; 
there were also numerous others, moral and well-disposed, 
but regardless of religious duty ; but not a single one whom 
he had been accustomed to see in such a room, for such a 
purpose, was, on this occasion, allowed to be there. 

The officer addressed them faithfully and plainly, urging 
their duty and their sins upon their consideration, while they 
sat still, in respectful but heartless silence ; looking intently 
upon him, with an expression of countenance which seemed 
to say, " Here we all are, move us if you can." And they con- 
quered. They went home unmoved ; and all the indications 
of increasing seriousness soon disappeared. They continued 
to assemble for several weeks, inviting the officers in succes- 
sion to be present, and at last, the few who remained, con- 
ducted the meetings themselves, with burlesqued sermons, 
and mock prayers, and closed the series at last, as I have 
been informed, by bringing in an ignorant black man, whose 
presence and assistance completed the victory they had gain- 
ed over influences from above. All this took place the year 
before, and it is to these circumstances that the next para- 
graph in the letter alludes. 



344 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



The Hebrew Bible. 



The President's visit to the awakened student. 




" It was probably with an intention somewhat similar to 
that which prompted the meetings which the irreligious stu- 
dents held by themselves the year before, that the following 
plan was formed. A student who was temporarily my room- 
mate importuned me to invite one of the tutors to conduct a 
religious meeting at my room. I told him that I would, if 
he would obtain the promise of certain individuals, ten in 
number, whom I named, that they would attend. I selected 
such individuals as I was confident would not consent to be 
present. In a short time he surprised me with the informa- 
tion that he had seen them all, and that they had consented 
to the proposal. Of course, I was obliged, though reluctant- 
ly, to request the tutor to hold such a meeting. Most of us 
repaired to the place, at the appointed time, with feelings of 
levity, or of bitter hostility to religion. My room-mate had 
waggishly placed a Hebrew Bible on the stand. Whether 
this circumstance, or the character of his auditory, suggested 
the subject which the tutor chose, I know not : — but after 
opening the meeting with prayer, he entered into a defense 
of the divine authority of the Holy Scriptures, from external 
and internal evidence, which he maintained in the most con^ 
vincing manner ; and then, on the strength of this authority, 
he urged its promises and denunciations upon us as sinners 
The effect was very powerful. Several retired deeply im 
pressed, and all were made more serious, and better prepared 
to be influenced by the truth. So that this affair ' fell out, 
. rather to the furtherance of the Gospel.' 

" My own interest in the subject rapidly increased, and 
one day, while secluded in my apartment, and overwhelmed 
with conflicting emotions of pride and despair, I was surprised 
by a visit from the President. He informed me that he had 
come with the hope of dissuading me from doing any thi?ig 
to hinder the progress of the revival. After intimating that 
he need feel no apprehensions on that point, I confessed to 



THE PARTING PROMISE. 345 

The mother. Her son's letters. The Christian mother's encouragement. 

him with difficulty the agitation of my thoughts. Appa- 
rently much affected, he only said, ' Ah, I was afraid you 
would never have such feelings.' After remaining silent a 
few minutes, he engaged in prayer, and retired, advising me 
to attend a certain meeting of my class-mates for prayer. I 
felt very much like the Syrian general when offended by the 
supposed neglect of the prophet; for I thought he would 
have seized the opportunity to do some great thing for the 
relief of my laboring mind. 

" With feelings still more excited I repaired to one of my 
class-mates, who had the reputation of being one of the most 
consistent Christians among us. I asked him, with tears, to 
tell me what I should do to be saved. He too betrayed his 
wonder, and only resorted to prayer with me, in which he 
could do little but say, ' Jesus, thou son of David, have mercy 
on us' Long afterward, I learned that when he left me, to 
join a circle assembled that evening for prayer, he told them 
that my inquiry for the way of salvation, made him feel as if 
he needed to learn it himself." 

The writer of the narrative which I have been transcrib- 
ing, had then a mother : she has since gone, to her home : 
She was a widow, and he her only child. She was a Chris- 
tian too, and her heart was oppressed, and her life saddened, 
by the character and conduct of her son. He wrote to her 
at this time, and among her papers after her death he found 
his letters, and has sent them to me. I wish that I could 
put them just as they are into this description ; — tattered and 
torn with frequent perusal. Those widowed and lonely 
mothers among my readers, whose lives are embittered by 
the impiety and wild irregularity of an unconverted son, will 
understand the feelings which led her literally to wear these 
letters out with repeated readings. As they read them, let 
them look to God, and take courage, and remember that it 



346 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Suspense relieved. 



The young convert's narrative. 



is never too late to pray, and never too late for God to an- 
swer prayer. 

In the first letter, he informs his mother of the indications 
of a general awakening to an interest in religion among the 
students, and expresses a considerable personal interest in it. 
" For the sake of the institution, of religion, and for my own 
sake, I feel most anxious that the work may go on with 
power. With what joy would I inform you that I felt the 
strivings of the Holy Spirit in my breast. But I can only 
say that I feel a growing sense of humiliation for sin. May 
it ripen into conviction, sincere repentance, and unfeigned 
dedication of my heart, soul, and powers to God." He then 
asks for his mother's prayers, and thanks her for all her past 
kindness to him. 

The anxious suspense which this letter must have occa- 
sioned to the parent who received it, was dispelled a few 
days afterward by the following. Before perusing it, I wish 
the reader would look around, in the village or town where 
he resides, fix his mind upon the leader in all the opposition 
to God and religion which is made there ; some man of ac- 
complished manners and address, superior intellect, and ex- 
tensive influence, — and the open and avowed opposer of piety 
and all of its professors. You must have such a man in mind 
as the writer, in order to appreciate it at all. Then recollect 
that it is from an only son to a widowed Christian mother, 
— transcribed exactly from the tattered fragments which I 
now carefully put together. 



" Amherst College, April 28, 1827 
M My dearest Mother, 

" Where shall I find words to declare the wonders of re- 
deeming love ? Even in my low state, Almighty God has 
not forgotten me, nor the prayers of my pious friends. How 
can I describe the peace of mind, the swelling, overwhelm- 



THE PARTING PROMISE. 347 

Narrative continued. - 

ing tide of joy which results from an entire submission to a 
merciful God ? I can only say, that there is no happiness 
like the happiness of a heart devoted to the holy pleasure of 
its Maker ; no peace, like the peace of a mind that is recon- 
ciled to God. At the beginning of the present week, my at- 
tention was strongly directed to the importance of the soul. 
I immediately relinquished all other business, and devoted 
myself to this. My sense of the justice and excellence of the 
divine law, of the holiness of God, and my own dreadful and 
sinful condition rapidly increased. Tuesday and Wednesday 
my distress and anxiety grew more and more overpowering. 
Under the alarming impression that I had committed the un- 
pardonable sin, I devoted great and anxious inquiry to the na- 
ture of it. When I found reason to believe that this sin 
could not be brought up against me, there seemed to be a 
gleam of hope. I felt, or rather learned that I must be 
wholly resigned to the will of God, yet there was great oppo- 
sition in my heart. For a long time it seemed as if I would 
readily submit if I was only sure of pardon. I was making 
conditions and struggling against impressions, and became 
almost desperate, believing that my guilt had shut up every 
avenue of hope. The conflict had prostrated my strength, 
and could not have been maintained much longer, when I 
was led to compare my situation with that of the lepers at 
the gate of Samaria, when that city was besieged by the 
Syrians : ' if they save us alive, we shall live ; and if they 
kill us, we shall but die.' If I continued to hold out against 
God, I should surely be cut off, and that without remedy ; 
if I surrendered myself unconditionally, and with an undi- 
vided heart, I still could but die, while there was every reason 
to hope that God would not reject a heart offered in sincerity 
and truth. Accordingly I struggled to obtain this frame of 
mind, and at length, as I hope, subdued my pride and hos- 
tility, so as to melt into perfect submission to the will of God, 



348 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Narrative continued. 



heartily to confess the holiness and justice of the law, and 
freely acknowledge my own unworthiness. After I had been 
enabled by the divine blessing to do this, it seemed so reason- 
able, so altogether necessary and even so easy, that I mar- 
veled at the blindness and hardness of heart that had pre- 
vented my doing it long since. At the same time, I was 
filled with such transport, that it seemed to me as if I never 
could leave the foot of the cross ; as if I wished to retire 
from the world, and meditate and reflect on the loveliness of 
Christ. This happy change took place about Thursday noon 
The period of my greatest mental distress was Wednesday 
night. Nature was so exhausted in a conflict of a few hours, 
that I could scarcely stand. I found it impossible to eal 
during a great part of this time. The flesh is still weak, but 
I rapidly recovered strength as I gained peace. I now foi 
the first time realize what is meant by saying, that ' old 
things are passed away and all things become new.' I no 
longer see the same countenances, read the same Bible, and 
feel like the same person. All my acquaintances are entirely 
changed. My pious friends once appeared gloomy and re- 
served, now they are benevolent and cheerful. My gay ac- 
quaintances seem no longer happy, but mad. The Book of 
God once seldom read, or when read, disrelished or misunder- 
stood, now seems replete with interest and instruction. I am 
filled with joyful amazement as I learn from it the love 
which Jesus has manifested for the world, and the purity and 
excellence of the divine character. At the same time it 
teaches numerous lessons of humility, gives an odious aspect 
to sin, and warns against our deceiving hearts. I reflect 
with horror and dismay on my former course of forgetful ness 
of God, and feel as if it were a privilege to be allowed to at- 
tempt, though feebly, to pursue a totally opposite course. 
The sense I have of my former character makes me feel 
deeply for all my impenitent friends. I feel constrained to 



THE PARTING PROMISE. 349' 

Narrative concluded. 

humble myself before them on account of my former bad ex- 
ample and influence, and even with tears beseech them to 
turn from their sinful ways to repentance and faith. In 
short I feel a perfect good- will, I hope, to all the world, and 
banish hatred and envy from my heart where they had long 
been cherished. But, my dear mother, my hope is with 
great fear and trembling ; sometimes it seems incredible that 
such an one as myself should find any favor with God ; and 
if I have any hope, it is that Jesus Christ might show forth 
in me all long-suffering, for where sin abounded, grace doth 
much more abound. Sometimes I feel as if I was in rebel- 
lion yet ; but I do not rest at such a time till I resign myself 
anew, and without reserve to my Maker. But, dear mother 
I would that much fervent prayer might be offered up, that 
I may watch my heart diligently, and consider well the 
ground of my hope, and not be dangerously deceived ; and if 
I find myself under such an awful mistake, that I may not 
rest there, but give myself no peace till by sincere repentance 
and faith I may be reconciled to God in Christ. On the 
other hand if it should seem that God has magnified his long- 
suffering and the riches of his tender mercies in me, pray 
that I may be strengthened and established in repentance to- 
ward God, and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ ; and that I 
may exercise all the Christian virtues, and walk according to 
the law of God, increasing in the knowledge of the truth and 
growth in grace, and joy in the Holy Ghost. Oh, my dear 
mother, on you, on me, and on all the world, may God pour 
out the influence of the Spirit, to guide and sanctify us, and 
fit us for an eternity of happiness in heaven. I would wish 
to write much more, but hope to see you next Saturday or 
before. My sincere love, and prayers to and for all friends, 

" Your affectionate Son." 

I have thus followed out this particular case, in order to 



350 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Marks of genuine feeling. Religious meetings. 

give to my readers, by means of a minute examination of one 
specimen, a clear idea of the nature of the changes which 
were effected. There were, however, many other cases as 
marked and striking as this ; so that any person who was 
a member of college at that time, might be in doubt, after 
reading the preceding description, which of half a dozen 
decided enemies of religion, who were at this time changed, 
was the one referred to. In fact the feeling went through 
the college ; — it took the whole. Nothing like opposition to 
it was known, except that perhaps in a very few cases indi- 
viduals made efforts to shield themselves from its influence ; 
and one or two did this successfully, by keeping themselves 
for many days, under the influence of ardent spirit ! With 
a few exceptions of this kind, the unwonted and mysterious 
influence was welcomed by all. It was not, among Chris- 
tians, a feeling of terror, of sadness, and melancholy, but of 
delight. Their countenances were not gloomy and morose, 
as many persons suppose is the case at such a time, but they 
beamed with an expression of enjoyment, which seemed to 
be produced by the all-pervading sense of the immediate 
presence of God. I have seen, in other cases, efforts to ap- 
pear solemn, — the affected gravity of countenance, and seri- 
ousness of tone ; — but there was nothing of that here. Hearts 
were all full to overflowing, and it was with a mysterious min- 
gling of peace and joy, — an emotion of deep and overwhelming 
gladness in the soul, though of a character so peculiar, that it 
expressed itself in the countenance by mingled smiles and tears. 
The ordinary exercises of college were not interrupted. 
The President held two or three religious meetings during 
the week, but recitations went on unchanged, and I well 
recollect the appearance of my mathematical classes. The 
students would walk silently and slowly from their rooms, 
and assemble at the appointed place. It was plain that the 
hearts of many of them were full of such emotions as I have 



THE PARTING PROMISE. 



351 



The recitation-room. 



The circle for prayer. 



described. Others, whose peace was not made with God, 
would sit with downcast eyes, and when it came their turn 
to be questioned, would make an effort to control their feel- 
ings, and finding that they could not recite, would ask me to 
excuse them. Others, known heretofore as hardened enemies 
of God and religion, sat still, their heads reclined upon the 
seats before them, with hearts overwhelmed with remorse 
and sorrow, and eyes filled with tears. I could not ask them 
a question. One morning, I recollect, so strong and so uni- 
versal were these feelings, that we could not go on. The 
room was silent as death. Every eye was down ; I called 
upon one after another, but in vain ; and we together prayed 
God to come and be with us, and bless us, and to save us 
from sin and suffering, and then silently went to our rooms. 

The buildings of the college were as still this week as if 
they had been depopulated. The students loved to be alone. 
They walked about silently. They said little when they 
met, as men always do when their hearts are full. Late in 
the evening they would 



collect in little circles 
in one another's rooms, 
to spend a few mo- 
ments in prayer. I 
was often invited to 
these meetings, and it 
was delightful to see 
the little assembly 
coming into the room 
at the appointed time, 
each bringing his own 
chair, and gathering 
around the bright burn- 
ing fire, with the 
armed-chair placed in 




THE MEETING-- 



352 THE CORNEPc-STONE. 

The Tuesday evening meeting. Solemnity. 

one corner for their instructor, and the two occupants of the 
room together upon the other side. They who were present 
at these meetings will not soon forget the enjoyment with 
which their hearts were filled, as they here bowed in suppli- 
cation before God. 

On Tuesday and Thursday evenings we assembled in the 
largest lecture-room, for more public worship. It was the 
same room where, a few weeks before, on the same occasions, 
we could see only here and there one among the vacant, 
gloomy seats. Now how changed. At the summons of the 
evening bell group after group ascended the stairs and crowd- 
ed the benches. It was the rhetorical lecture-room, and was 
arranged with rows of seats on the three sides, and a table 
for the Professor on a small platform on the fourth. The 
seats were soon full, and settees were brought in to fill the 
area left in the center. The President^ was seated at the 
table ; on either side of him the Professors ; and beyond them, 
and all around, the room was crowded with young men, 
hungering and thirsting after the word of God. 

I recollect particularly one of these meetings. It was one 
of the earliest after the revival commenced, and before us, 
♦ rowding the settees in the open area, were gathered all the 
vvild, irreligious, vicious and abandoned young men which 
the institution contained. There they were, the whole of 
them ; all enmity gone, opposition silenced, and pride sub- 
dued, and they sat in silence, gazing at the President, and 
drinking in all his words, as he pressed upon them their sins, 
and urged them to throw down the weapons of their rebel- 
lion, and come and submit themselves to God. The text for 
the evening, if I recollect right, was this, "Notwithstanding, 
be ye sure of this, the kingdom of God has come nigh unto 
you." Every person in the room felt that it was nigh. The 
preacher spoke in a calm, quiet, but impressive manner, and 
* Rev. Dr. Humphrey. 












THE PARTING PROMISE. 353 



Sincere and honest feeling. The sermon. The hymn. 

every word went to the heart. Many persons imagine that 
preaching in such a season is loud and noisy, and set off with 
exciting remarks, and extravagant gesticulations ; and it is 
so sometimes, when men attempt to make a revival by their 
own power. But where the Spirit of G-od really comes, there 
are very different indications. Every one feels irresistibly 
that God is there, and that he himself must walk humbly 
and softly before him. The almost supernatural power 
which preaching seems to have at such a time is the power 
of simple truth on hearts bowed down before it by influences 
from above. Such a season robs eloquence and genius of all 
their power ; declamation is more than useless, and all the 
arts of oratory of no avail. There are souls awed and sub- 
dued before God, and longing for the light of truth ; and he 
who can supply these desires with the greatest calmness, and 
directness, and simplicity, will be the means of producing 
the most powerful effects. A man could scarcely give utter- 
ance to rant and declamation and noisy harangue in such a 
room, even if he had come all prepared to do it. As he 
should enter such a scene, he would be subdued and calmed 
by its irresistible influence. He would instinctively feel that 
noisy eloquence there would grate upon every ear and shock 
every heart, and no bold assurance would be sufficient to 
carry him on. 

We listened to the sermon, which was earnest and im- 
pressive, though direct, plain, and simple ; it told the ungodly 
hearers before us, that the kingdom of heaven was nigh them, 
and urged them to enter it. We knew — we could almost 
feel that they were entering it ; and when, at the close of 
the meeting, we sang our parting hymn, I believe there was 
as much real, deop-flowing happiness in that small but 
crowded apartment, as four such walls ever contained. 

When the indications of this visit from above first ap- 
peared, it was about a fortnight before the close of the term, 



351 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Religious character of the converts. 



and in about ten days its object was accomplished. Out of 
the whole number of those who had been irreligious at its 
commencement, about one half professed to have given them- 
selves up to God ; but as to the talent, and power of opposi- 
tion, and open enmity,— -the vice, the profaneness, the dissi- 
pation,— the revival took the whole. With one or two 
exceptions, it took the whole. And when, a few weeks 
afterward, the time arrived for those thus changed to make 
a public profession of religion, it was a striking spectacle to 
see them standing in a crowd in the broad aisle of the college 
chapel, purified, sanctified, and in the presence of all their 
fellow-students renouncing sin, and solemnly consecrating 
themselves to God. Seven years have since elapsed, and 
they are in his service now. I have their names before me, 
and I do not know of one who does not continue faithful to 
his Master still. 



But I have dwelt too long perhaps on this subject, and I 
must close this chapter. I have been intending, however, 
to say two things in conclusion, though I must now say them 
briefly. 

1; There are many persons who, because they have seen 
or heard of many spurious and heartless efforts to make a re- 
vival of religion, accompanied by noise and rant, and unprofit- 
able excitement, doubt the genuineness of all these reforma- 
tions. But I ask them whether the permanent alteration, in 
a week, of nearly all the wild, and ungovernable, and vicious 
students of a college, is not evidence of the operation of some ex- 
traordinary moral cause. We who witnessed it can not doubt. 
Such cases, too, are not uncommon. They occur constantly, 
all over our land, producing entire changes in neighborhoods 
and villages, and towns, and very often in colleges. The 
effect in this case upon the police of the institution was aston- 
ishing. Before the revival, the officers of the institution were 



THE PARTING PROMISE. 355 

These changes the work of God. Witnessed by thousands. Counterfeits. 

harassed and perplexed with continual anxiety and care, 
from the turbulence and vice of their pupils. But from this 
time we had scarcely any thing to do in respect to the dis- 
cipline of the institution. Month after month, every thing 
went smoothly and pleasantly, and we had nothing to do but 
to provide instruction for industrious, faithful, and regular 
young men ; while before, the work of punishing misdemean- 
ors, and repressing disorder, and repairing injuries, demanded 
far the greatest portion of our attention and care. Similar 
changes have often been produced in other communities, and 
the fact that so many persons have thus had the opportunity 
personally to witness them, is the real ground of the convic- 
tion which almost universally prevails, among the most intel- 
ligent and substantial portions of the community, that they 
are the work of God. That there will be some counterfeits 
is to be expected. As human nature is, it is certain. But 
we ought, when convinced that there are counterfeits, not to 
condemn all, but carefully to discriminate, and to bring be- 
fore the world the marks of a counterfeit as distinctly as pos- 
sible, so that nothing but what is genuine may obtain credit 
among mankind. 

2. Header, there is such a thing as having the heart filled 
with peace and joy, under the influence of the Spirit of God. 
Do not doubt it, if you have not yourself experienced it, and 
do not forget it if you have. The mysterious influence shows 
itself in many ways. It whispers to the soul sometimes in 
solitude, at midnight, and beckons it away from the world 
to God and duty. The morning light, and the return of busi- 
ness and pleasures silence it, perhaps, — but then it will re- 
turn in sickness, in affliction, and sorrow, and say to the 
spirit, still lingering about the world, " Come away, come 
away." It may be disregarded still, — but it will hover 
near, and like a dove unwilling to leave its master, will flut- 
ter around ard light upon him again and again It melts 



356 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Influences of the Spirit. 



The Comforter. 



the soul into penitence for sins which have been thought of 
with cold insensibility for years, — it subdues stubbornness 
and pride, — it removes the vail from before the tomb, and 
brings God, and the judgment, and heaven to view. It gives 
life and sensibility to the torpid soul, and awakens its powers 
again,— it nerves the weak, humbles the proud, breaks the 
chains and fetters of sin, and under its magic power, the 
hardened, rebellious, stupid enemy of God rises to life and to 
freedom. His restless, feverish anxiety is gone, joy gladdens 
his heart, hope beams in his eye, and he comes to his Savior, 
subdued, altered, purified, forever. Blessed Spirit, thou art 
indeed the light and life of man ; — the only real Comforter, 
in this vale of sorrow and sin. We will pray for thee, and 
open our hearts to thee, and welcome thy coming. Descend, 
heavenly influence, descend everywhere, and bring this sin- 
ning and suffering world back to its duty. 



THE CONCLUSION. 357 



Various classes of readers. Address to the few. 



CHAPTER XL 

THE CONCLUSION. 
" If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them." 

The question which ought to arise in the mind of every 
reader, as he draws toward the close of a religious book, is 
this : " What practical effect is this work to produce upon 
my mind ?" The question is generally very easily answered. 
Some read from mere curiosity ; — some to beguile weary 
hours ; — -some to be able to say that they have read what 
their friends and acquaintances have been reading. One 
man goes over the chapters of such a work as this, thinking 
all the time how its truths will apply to his neighbors ; an- 
other scrutinizes paragraph after paragraph, to discover if 
possible whether the writer believes in this theory or that, 
or to determine the religious party with which he is to be 
classed ; and a third, though he may attend to the practical 
bearings and relations of the subject, is thinking, all the time, 
of other persons, in applying them. This chapter he appro- 
riates to his wife, — another to his child, and. another he 
thinks admirably adapted to the spiritual condition of his 
neighbor. The number of readers who take up a religious 
book honestly and sincerely to promote their own personal 
piety is very small. 

Still there are a few ; and it is to these few that the re- 
maining pages of this work ought now to be devoted. There 
are a few, who really read with reference to the -supply of 



358 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Very few really accessible. " I wish I were a Christian." 

their own spiritual wants. It would be too much, to say that 
all of them have a sincere and honest desire to know and tc 
do their duty, but they have at least some personal interest 
in it. If they are not really prepared to take the right course, 
at least the question whether they will take it or not comes 
up to view. It comes up in the light of a personal question 
which they at least consider. Others read without admitting 
the claims of personal duty, even to a hearing. The intel- 
lect, the imagination, the taste, are perhaps in an accessible 
position ; but the conscience and all the moral powers are 
far within, — protected from all attack, — every avenue seal- 
ed, — and every channel of communication cut off, so that the 
moral slumber can not be disturbed. It is those only who 
are accessible, that we have to address in the few pages that 
now remain. 

There is a great deal of perplexity often felt, by a class of 
thoughtful, serious-minded persons, in regard to the diffi- 
culties which stand in the way of their own personal 
salvation. They wish to become Christians, they say, but 
there seems to be some mysterious yet irresistible agency 
which keeps them back in the coldness and wretchedness 
of sin. In such cases there is perhaps a wish, a sincere wish 
of a certain kind, to become a Christian ; but it remains 
inert and powerless in their hearts ; it does not lead them to 
piety itself, and they feel and act as if there were some 
mysterious obstacle to their obtaining what they sincerely and 
honestly desire. 

The two great elementary principles of religion are these ; 
the duty of strong, benevolent interest in every fellow-being, 
and of submission and gratitude toward the Supreme. Jesus 
Christ has said that these constitute the foundation on which 
all real religion rests ; and it is difficult to find words to ex 
press the perfect adaptation of these principles to the purposes 



THE CONCLUSION. 359 



Two great principles of duty ; universal and unquestionable. 

of a great moral government, — their admirable tendency to 
secure universal order and happiness. There is not a states- 
man or philosopher on the globe who can improve upon them. 
nor a savage low enough not to perceive their moral beauty 
and grandeur. They are the golden chain to bind all God's 
creatures to one another, and to him ; complete, — for there 
is no other principle of duty which can even claim to be 
ranked with them ; unrivaled. — for no other system can be 
proposed which would even promise to secure the results of 
this ; and undeniable in their excellence and efficacy, — for 
never, since the world was formed, was a mind so perverse 
as to call them in question. They can not be called in ques- 
tion. No person can doubt that a moral governor, presiding 
over moral and intelligent creatures, by prescribing such rules 
as the fundamental laws of his empire, takes the most direct 
and efficient course to secure universal harmony and happi- 
ness. ~No man can utter a word against them. There is a 
feeling within him, which would rise up and silence him, if 
he should attempt to do it. They stand inscribed by con- 
science in every heart ; reason and justice and truth have 
set their seals to the record ; and there they must stand in 
characters which can not be obliterated. 

But though mankind can not question the excellence of the 
system of duty which God has established for his creatures, 
they can, in their practice, violate it : and a great many 
pleasures of various kinds will come by means of such vio- 
lation. If a man will give up all concern for his neighbors' 
rights and happiness, he may secure some new indulgences 
for himself, in consequence of it. If he will disobey God, he 
may find some gratification in doing what he has forbidden. 
The question between holiness and sin, is not a question 
between unalloyed happiness, and unmixed, uninterrupted 
misery. It is rather a question between two sorts of pleasures. 
There is guilty indulgence on one side, and holy peace of mind 



360 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Some pleasure in sin. Sin preferred. Supposed desire for piety. 



on the other. There is selfish interest or aggrandizement 
beckoning to this path, and the happiness of doing good, in- 
viting to the other. In the former the heart may secure the 
feverish but real delight which gratified propensities and 
passions may afford ; envy and anger may have their way, — 
revenge may be allowed its intoxicating triumph, — and sin- 
ful pleasure may bring her sparkling cup ; in the latter, are 
the peaceful enjoyments of piety, — the sense of protection, — 
the hope of undeserved forgiveness, — communion with God, 
and heart-felt interest in the welfare of men. Between these 
two classes of pleasures, the human soul must make its choice, 
and the real dificulty in the way of the salvation of men, is, 
that they do really prefer the pleasures of sin to those of 
holiness; and of course, if they enjoy the one, they must 
forego the other. 

Men very often suppose that they have a love, a desire for 
piety, while yet they remain in sin ; but it is something else, 
not piety itself, which in such cases, they love. When they 
look directly at the two classes of pleasures above described, 
they will see, if they are honest, that they do deliberately 
prefer the former. The pleasures of sin, in some form or 
other, look alluring, but the pleasures of holiness do not look 
alluring. The dominion of sin therefore is pleasant; the 
soul loves its chains, and consequently it does not really 
desire a rescue. The feelings therefore which it sometimes 
cherishes, are of a different character altogether from a real 
wish to escape the pollution and the miseries of sin ; for the 
heart has scarcely any sense of its pollution or of its miseries. 

There seem to be two prominent ways, by which an indi- 
vidual may deceive himself in supposing that he wishes to 
become a Christian. These we ought here particularly to 
describe ; for the reading of a religious book, if it presses 
plainly the principles of duty, usually awakens these false 
desires in many minds. I can not but hope that many of 



THE CONCLUSION. 361 



Influence of a religious book. First ground of error.' The thoughtful young man. 

those who will have perused these pages, will he really led 
to see sin and holiness in their true light, and hy the Messing 
of God, be led to choose henceforth the path of duty, But 
there can he no question that far the greater part of those 
whose hearts are accessible, and who will be influenced at 
all, will only be led to form those desires which are always 
ready to spring up in the unrenewed heart, but which' have 
only the form and appearance of a love for piety. 

I ought not perhaps to say, that religious reading forms 
those desires in the heart, for they exist already almost every- 
where, and those who cherish them are most likely to be 
found among the readers of a work professedly exhibiting 
the practical bearings of religious truth. They read such a 
work as this, under the influence of these counterfeit desires, 
and in many cases the only effect is to bring out those desires 
to a little greater distinctness and vividness, without at all 
altering their character. Reader, are you a serious-minded, 
thoughtful friend of religion, — looking for instruction, and 
thinking that you really desire a renewed heart, and the 
happiness of piety ? Consider carefully what is now to be 
said, and see whether you have not been mistaken as to the 
nature of your feelings. 

1. The first kind of feeling which is mistaken for a love of 
piety, is the momentary relief which the mind sometimes 
finds in religious contemplation, from the fear of the punish- 
ment of sin. You are a young man, and from early infancy 
you have known your duty to God. The kind and faithful 
voice of a father or mother has, during all the long years of 
childhood and youth, been gently endeavoring to win you to 
their Master's service, but in vain. You have chosen sin, 
and lived in it. At length, however, as you have left your 
father's roof and have come out into the world, and as the 
years, and the duties, and the scenes of childhood are all actual- 
ly past, and you are separated from them forever, you begin to 

a 



362 THE CORNER-STONE 

Conscience; recollections; fears. 

realize that life is actually passing away. Besides, the sins 
of childhood rise to your remembrance. Conscience is per- 
haps seared in respect to most of them, but there are a few 
which, when they rise to mind, awaken a peculiar bitterness 
of remorse, which makes you shut your eyes against the recol- 
lection, and turn away from it as soon as you can. It is one 
of the mysterious principles of human nature that some of its 
mortal wounds will not heal. The longer the man lives, the 
more bitter will grow some of the recollections of early guilt ; 
and in the permanence of these fountains of suffering, which 
he finds he can not close, he reads a lesson which his fore- 
boding fears press very strongly upon his mind. He some- 
times trembles to think that all his other wounds may only 
be closed superficially, and may perhaps be gathering in his 
soul secret stores of remorse and suffering, to break out when- 
ever God shall speak the word. That this is the case in fact 
with all merely forgotten sin, no careful observer of the hu- 
man heart, or reader of the Bible can doubt. The class of 
persons that I am describing are, however, not very careful 
observers ; they do not really believe that they are laying up 
such treasures of wrath, — they only suspect it ; they now and 
then get a little glimpse of the power of past guilt, just 
enough to alarm them. 

Besides these gentle stings, which treasured recollections 
of guilt sometimes give them, as if just to remind them what 
vipers they have in their bosoms, there is the voice of con- 
science murmuring against present habits of transgression, 
and foreboding fears warning of future danger ; and the word 
of God, too, confirming and sanctioning both. You have 
perhaps often felt these anxieties and sufferings. In the hour 
of solitude, when peculiar circumstances favor reflection, 
your heart is thus agitated and distressed under a sense of its 
past and present guilt. You look at religion, at reconcilia- 
tion with God, solely as a way of escape from threatening 



363 

Soot;. : of a good . ing the rewards of piety. 



danger. You ibrni a vague determination to seek this safety 
at seme future time, and this intention, as it affords a little 
gleam of hope, brings a little sensation of relief and that little 
feeling of relief, arising from the contemplation of the safety 
of piety, is mistaken for a love for spiritual joys themselves. 
The mere thought of religion, as a possible future posses- 
_.:gs thus very often a feeling of relief to the con- 
Jthough the heart may net in the slightest degree 1 se 
its love:: i relax its hoi I ut ::: it. Conscience is bribed 

to be quiet by a good intention, a promise, — meant to be ful- 
filled at seme future day. 1 bough the soul loves ixreligion 
as much as ever, and shrinks back as much as ever from hum- 
broken-hearted penitence, and communion with God, and 
1 spiritual joy, it still fancies that it has a desire for 
piety. "I wish I were a Christie::." it says ; — it means. ;; I 
wish I could escape the consequences : sin, without having 
to give up its j:ys.' : 

Reader, is this your state :: mind ? Do yon wishfoi piety 
only as a means of escaping present remorse arid anxiety] and 
[anger, while you still wish to cling to sin ? The way 
to determine whether you do or not. is to withdraw your 
thoughts : :t_ the et'-e'f: it :;:: :f sin and holiness, and hx 
them on sin and holiness themselves. Does the idea of eoming 
and giving yourself up wholly, soul and body, to God, look 
pleasant to you? A child who loves his father will take 
pleasure in bringing his work, whatever it may I :. where his 
father is, that he may do it by his side. Now does the idea 
of bringing your work every day tc i ": :;• father, so that you 
may always be in his presence, working by his side, look 
isant to you ? Is there anything alluring in the idea cf 
examining thorqnghly all your sins, and bringing them :::: 
before God in complete :-::" isure ? Can you see any pleasure 
in penitence, in submission, in g feeling of utter :: '. helpless 
7 : you like tt 3 idea >i -\„. 



364 THE CORNER-STOKE. 

Loving piety itself. Influence of fear. Undefined feara. 

favorite selfish schemes, and coming to identify yourself with 
his cause, — so as to make yourself one with him, in object 
and pursuit ? As you look abroad over the world, and see 
the condition of tlie human race, do you feel like embarking 
your all in the work of attempting to restore it ? I do not 
mean to ask whether you can drag yourself up to these du- 
ties, — whether you can find motives enough to drive or 
frighten you to the mechanical performance of them. — But 
do they look "pleasant to you ? Does the enterprise seem al- 
luring and agreeable ? These are the questions which you 
ought to ask yourself, if you wish to determine whether you 
have any real desire for piety. • It is not enough that you 
should have anxiety and foreboding fears from which you 
find a partial and momentary relief, in the vague intention 
of one day beginning to serve your Maker. The safety, the 
peace, the promised rewards of piety, of course look alluring 
to all men. The great question is, how do you feel about 
piety itself. 

In regard, thus, to a very large proportion of those who 
think that they wish to become Christians, their interest in 
the subject amounts substantially to this ; — they are so de- 
sirous to escape from the threatening dangers of sin, that 
they are almost willing even to take religion as a means of 
escape. How much love for piety there is in this the reader 
may judge. 

A person can not safely conclude that this is not his state 
of mind, simply because when he thinks of the subject he has 
no distinct and well-defined fears of a future retribution. It 
is very often the case that the feelings, from which the 
thought of religion as a possible future possession affords a 
little relief, are mingled emotions of remorse and gloomy fore- 
boding, which present to the mind no distinct objects of dread, 
but which still disturb the peace. Now it is plainly of in- 
consequence what form uneasiness assumes ; an inclinatioii 



THE CONCLUSION. 3 Go 



Fear of consequences proper. - Desire of happiness. 

to become a Christian, based in any way on a desire to avoid 
uneasiness, is a very different thing from loving it on its own 
account. Do the duties of God's service look alluring to you ? 
If they do not, you plainly have no real love for piety ; if 
they do, you are of course a Christian, for to love these duties 
and to perform them are inseparable. 

Let no one however suppose from these remarks that 'a fear 
of future punishment, or a desire to escape the uneasiness and 
the remorse attendant on continuance in sin, are wrong 
They are not wrong. The Bible everywhere endeavors to 
awaken them : and their influence ought to be felt by every 
human being far more powerfully than they are. The point 
urged in the preceding paragraphs is that these desires alone, 
while the heart revolts from piety itself, are no desires for 
religion. Let not therefore the young disciple who is just 
beginning to love and serve his Maker, be led to despond, be- 
cause he finds himself so much under the influence of a de- 
sire to get free from the burdens and dangers of sin. You do 
right to wish to escape suffering ; you do right to act under 
the influence of that wish. Your steps should be quickened 
— your ardor and alacrity should receive an impulse from a 
sense of the greatness of the dangers from which you are en- 
deavoring to fly. The question is not whether you are 
driven ; but whether you are allured as well as driven. 
You are weary of present remorse, and you shrink from future 
suffering. It is well. Do you also love holiness and reach 
forward to it as in itself a spiritual treasure. He who has 
real desires for piety, partakes of the fears and anxieties 
which agitate him who has not ; but he has love and hope 
besides. The one is like the disobedient child who has re- 
belled against his father, broken away from his authority, 
and gone from his presence ; and at night he is bewildered 
in a forest, and terrified by darkness and storm, — but yet he 
will not go home. The former is another son, who having 



366 THE CORNER-STONE. 



Second form of false interest in religion. The evsning walk. The ocean. 

wandered in the same way, is equally distressed at the dan- 
gers which threaten him, and trembles perhaps even more 
than the other at the thunder and the wind ; — hut his face 
is toward the dwelling which he has left; — his heart is 
melted, and he longs to he again at his father's side, to ask 
his forgiveness, and once more to he happy under his protec- 
tion. — Reader, do you really wish to return ? 

2. I have said that there are two forms of interest in reli- 
gion, which are often mistaken for sincere desires for piety. 
The first, the one which we have described, may be called 
the interest of anxiety, the second that of "poetic taste. There 
is a strong poetic interest which may be excited by many 
subjects connected with religion, and on this, a heart may 
dwell with delight, while it has no returning sense of duty, 
no relenting for sin, and nothing but dislike for the actual 
service of God. 

It is the refined and sensitive mind which is most exposed 
to this danger, — and this too generally in the earlier periods 
of life, when the imagination is active and vigorous, and the 
bosom easily swells with the emotions she excites. A young 
man of such a character rambles at sunset on a summer 
evening, on the sea-shore. All is stillness and beauty. The 
surface of the water is smooth and glassy, and reflects, even 
to the distant horizon, a silvery light. On this liquid mirror, 
here and there a verdant island seems to float, doubled by 
reflection, and around some distant point of land, a boat 
plows its way, the sound of the dip and impulse of its oars 
coming distinctly to the observer's ear, across the smooth 
expanse which spreads itself out before him. 

He gazes on this scene an hour, — now watching the 

wheeling of the sea-bird in its flight, — now tracing the line 

of the distant shore, following it, on one side, to the lofty and 

rugged precipice where it abruptly terminates, and on the 

ther, running out on the attenuated sandy point, which 



THE CONCLUSION. 



3G7 



Night. 



Clouds. 



glides down into the water so gradually that he can not fix 
the boundary between sea and land ; — and now watching, 
both with eye and ear, the ceaseless regularity with which 
the gentle swell of the water foams against the rocks at hig 
feet. 




THE SEA-SHORE. 



Presently he perceives a zone of faint and almost imper- 
ceptible shadow rising in the east, — the dark harbinger of 
night ; for darkness sends forward the somber signal of its 
coming, into the same quarter of the heavens which beams. 
in the morning, with the bright precursor of the day. He 
looks toward the western sky, and Venus shines with a faint 
beam, the earliest star among the thousands which are soon 
to kindle up the sky. Clouds, magnificent in form and 
splendid in coloring, float in the sun's last rays. Their bril- 
liancy, however, gradually dies away. The bright, gilded 



368 THE CORNER-STONE. 




Stars. Poetic feeling. The romance of religion. 

edge becomes obscured, — the crimson and the purple fade 
into gray, and the broad and splendid expanse of air, so bright 
with mere reflection, that it seems like a flaming curtain 
floating in the sky, loses its hues, and stars shine out one by 
one, all over the darkening expanse. The gorgeous mass of 
cloud too in the horizon, exchanges one glory for another ;— 
for while its brilliant colors fade, and its bosom grows dark, 
the beaming flash of lightning now and then faintly spreads 
over it, revealed by the very darkness which robbed the cloud 
of superficial splendor. 

The observer of all this sits upon the rocky shore, in a 
reverie of enjoyment. As a mere scene of physical beauty, 
it is capable of making a strong impression ; but the poetic 
interest which it excites, is greatly increased when he con- 
ceives of the Supreme Divinity as presiding over this scene, 
and sees his skill and taste in every beauty, and his direct 
act in every change. He, who, in contemplating the glories 
of creation,, gives Jehovah his proper place in the conceptions 
which he forms, rises far above the mere poet or philosopher. 
Bringing in life and intelligence in any form, always exalts 
and ennobles a scene of natural beauty, — and when the life 
and intelligence thus brought in, is the great God and Fa- 
ther of all, the measure of moral beauty and grandeur is full. 

Besides, while an observer, with a heart capable of enjoy- 
ing such a scene, thinks of the Deity as presiding in it, he 
can find much poetic interest in many aspects even of his 
own relations to that Deity. He reflects that the Almighty 
power, which could arrange such a scene as that around him, 
and give to the whole its indescribable power to touch the 
human heart, can never be at a loss for the means to make 
his creatures happy. He gazes into the lofty sky, and the 
extent and splendor of the view give him some faint concep- 
tion of the immensity of the community over which God 
presides. He thinks of this little world as a revolted prov- 



THE CONCLUSION. 369 



Holiness. These feelings not wrong ; only insufficient of themselves. 



ince ; and as lie fancies that allegiance and harmony and 
happiness reign in all the bright regions before him, his heart 
swells with a sort of chivalrous desire to join the minority 
here, in their efforts to restore Jehovah's reign. The spirit 
which rises in his breast is that of romance, — of chivalry. 
If God's kingdom were a political or a military one, he would 
press forward at once to its banner. But, alas, — it is a king- 
dom of holiness. To enter it he must come down from 
his high imaginations, and go to work in penitence and 
humility among the corruptions of his own heart, — and this 
he can not do. He can admire and love magnificence, 
whether natural or moral, but he has no heart for inward 
purity. 

In the case which I have supposed, the poetic feeling 
which has invested some of the aspects of religion with a 
charm, is very strongly marked. It seldom exists so distinct- 
ly, and occupies the soul so exclusively, as in the case which 
I have described. This play of the imagination is more 
frequently mingled with other feelings, and some careful 
discrimination is necessary to ascertain how far the heart is 
under its influence. Here however I ought to give a similar 
caution to the one annexed to the preceding head ; that is, 
a caution to guard the reader against supposing that the 
feelings which I have thus described are ivrong. They are 
not wrong, when united with penitence and faith. Alone, 
they are insufficient. They may properly mingle with piety, 
though they can never constitute it. 

No renewed mind whatever, unless it is enveloped in hope- 
less stupidity, can look upon the ever-varied scene of beauty 
and grandeur which is presented to us here, without some 
such swelling emotions of joy that God, the Maker of all, is 
his father and friend. Let no one conclude, therefore, be- 
cause he can perceive such feelings in his heart, that there- 
fore all his interest in piety is of the wrong kind. The 



370 THE CORNER-STONE. 

Inward purity. Wishing to be a Christian. 

question is not, whether yon have these feelings, but whether 
you have any besides these. You love the magnificence of 
nature, — the beauties of the morning, — the splendor of the 
sky,— the roaring of the ocean, — and the terrific sublimity 
of the midnight storm. You enjoy the contemplation of God, 
when you consider him as the presiding power which rules 
over all these scenes. All this is well. But do you also 
love, and long for inivard 'purity ? Do the feelings of peni 
tence, and faith, and humble child-like submission, appear 
to you as spiritual treasures, which you earnestly desire to 
bring home more and more fully to your soul; — or do you 
loathe them, and wish to be free to live and act and feel as 
you have done ? If the latter is the case, you must not mis- 
take any serious thoughts or deep emotions which you may 
feel, for real desires for piety. 

There can not be any obstacle whatever in the way of a 
return to God and to duty, when the heart really desires the 
return. Wishing for communion with God, reconciliation 
to him, forgiveness for the past, and guidance and protection 
for the future, implies every Christian grace ; and where the 
heart really feels such desires, it must, in some degree at 
least, experience the fruition. 

And yet no idea is more common than that a person re- 
maining impenitent, may wish to be a Christian. You think, 
perhaps, my reader, that this is your case. You wish that 
you were a Christian, you say ; but the way is dark before 
you. There is some mysterious obstacle which you can not 
overcome. But reflect a moment, and you will see how im- 
possible it is that there should be any such obstacle. It 
can not be in your hearts ; — for the difficulty in the heart 
must have been surmounted before you could have any real 
love for piety. It can not be any compulsion, or physical 
restraint from without ; — for such causes can not control the 
movements of .the human soul. It can not be in God ; — for 



THE CONCLUSION. 371 



Difficulties lemoved. Discrimination. Common errors. 

he surely wishes to have all those come to him who would 
love his service. It can not exist at all. If you wish to be 
the Lord's, he is all ready to receive you. If you think that 
you should be happy as a subject in the kingdom of heaven, 
the way is all open before you to enter it. Go on. In be- 
ginning to love piety, if you have for it any love at all, you 
have passed by all the barriers which obstructed your way. 
Ycu have henceforth only to drink as freely as you please of 
the waters which you say you love. 

It is undoubtedly true that many persons imagine that 
they wish to be Christians, when in fact they have only one 
of the two forms of religious interest which have been just 
described. There are some, however, who really feel desires 
which rest upon God as their object, and who yet find, as we 
have already intimated, these desires so mingled with other 
feelings, and even so absorbed in them, that they live in con- 
stant despondency, and sometimes sink almost to despair. 
Others shut their eyes to the worldly motives which mingle 
with their purer desires, and imagine that all their ardent 
interest is holy zeal for God; — and they press on, with a 
proud and careless step, till they are humbled by an unex- 
pected fall. Thus they err on opposite extremes. Keither is 
careful to separate the mingled feelings and desires which 
reign within him ; but one calls them all right, and the other 
all wrong. Guard against this mistake. Make some dis- 
crimination, and ask yourself whether you have any real de 
sires resting on union with God. 

This work will fail of its design, if it shall not be the 
means of leading some, at least, of its readers to these right 
desires. If among all who shall read the volume, there is 
one who is led by it to seek God, and is now, as he draws 
toward the last page of it, resolved to live no longer in sin, 
but to enter into the service of his Maker, I can not more 



372 THE CORNER-STONE. 



To the Reader. Various directions to a new convert. Openness. Humility. 

appropriately close -this chapter than by devoting the few re* 
maining paragraphs in giving a few parting words to him. 
Header, are you this individual ? Have you, as you have 
passed on from chapter to chapter of this work, seen ycur sins, 
— felt your need of a Redeemer, — desired forgiveness in his 
name, — and felt some rising emotions of gratitude at the 
thought of the sufferings which he endured for you ? Are 
you ready to enter God's service ? If so, listen attentively to 
these my parting words. 

1. Become wholly a Christian, if you mean to become one 
at all. Do not attempt to come and make half a peace 
with God, or to seek a secret reconciliation. If you have 
been in sin, renounce it entirely. If you have been in 
error, abandon it openly. Do not be ungrateful or cowardly 
enough to wish to conceal your new attachment to the cause 
of God, or to avoid an acknowledgment that you have been 
in the wrong. Take the side of God and duty openly, dis- 
tinctly, fearlessly. This is your duty ; — and, besides, it is 
your happiness. A half Christian is always a very unhappy 



2. Be a humble Christian. Do not fancy yourself an ex- 
traordinary instance of religious zeal, or look down with 
affected wonder on the supposed inferiority of those who have 
been longer in their Master's service than you. You may be 
as ardent, as devoted, as pure and holy as you please ; but 
do not draw comparisons between yourself and others, till 
you have been tried a little. Remember that the evidence 
of piety is chiefly its fruits, and that well-grounded assurance 
can come only after years of devoted, and tried, and proved 
attachment to God. 

3. Remember that your chief duty is, for some time to 



THE CONCLUSION. 373 



Metaphysical difficulties. The precise timo of conversion. 



come, with your own heart. Look within, and make every 
tiling right there. It is of fundamental importance, how- 
ever, that when you look within, you do it, guided by the 
principles of the Bible and of common sense, and not by those 
of speculation and metaphysical philosophy. Try to see that 
your heart is right ; endeavor to cultivate the plain and un- 
questionable characteristics of piety ; — but do not lose, your- 
self in mystical speculations about the nature of regeneration, 
or in vain attempts to analyze and comprehend what will 
certainly elude your grasp. 

A great number of young converts, instead of entering im- 
mediately into the service of God, cultivating the spirit of 
piety, and endeavoring to do common and practical good, 
seem immediately to turn, as soon as they become sincerely 
interested in the subject of religion, into metaphysical phi- 
losophers, speculating and experimenting upon their own 
hearts. Their object seems to be, not to become holy, but 
to understand metaphysics. Do not let this be the case with 
you ; — cultivate piety. 

Do not waste any time in attempting to determine at what 
precise time you become a Christian, nor distress yourself 
because you can not determine it ; nor perplex your mind 
and impede your religious progress, because you can not posi- 
tively ascertain whether you are really a Christian or not. 
If the service of God looks alluring to you, press forward into 
it, without stopping to consider the difficulties of determining 
how you came where you are. 

There is perhaps no more common source of perplexity and 
discouragement to the young Christian than this. He thinks 
that he must be able to tell precisely when he began to serve 
God, or else he can have no evidence that he really has begun 
to serve him at all. But that time can not generally be deter- 
mined. In a very large number of the cases where it is sup- 
posed to be determined, the period which is fixed is probably 



374 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Case of the seed. 



The first great duty. 





THE PLANTIN6. 



fixed by mistake. De- 
posit a little seed in a 
place of warmth, and 
moisture, and watch it 
as narrowly as you 
please, and see if you 
can tell when it begins 
to vegetate ? Equally 
impossible is it, in most 
cases, to determine the 
precise period when 
the first holy desires 
sprung up in the hu- 
man heart : and it is 
useless, as well as im- 
possible. The only 
question of importance is, whether the seed is growing, — no 
matter when, or how it began to grow. 

Or rather, I should perhaps say, the only question is, by 
what cultivation we can make the seed grow most rapidly : 
fdr important as it is, that every Christian should know what 
are his condition and his prospects in reference to God and 
eternity, there is undoubtedly such a fault, and it is a very 
common one, as pursuing this inquiry with too great earnest- 
ness and anxiety. Many a mind wears and wastes itself 
away, and exhausts its moral energy in fruitless endeavors 
to determine its own spiritual state, when peace and happi- 
ness would soon come, if it would only press on in the work 
of duty. 

Still, however, the Christian's first work is undoubtedly 
with his own heart, — to examine its tendencies, to study its 
deceitful ways, to correct its waywardness, and to bring it 
more and more completely under the habitual dominion of 
the principles of piety. When a religious life is first com- 



THE CONCLUSION. 375 



Excellences of outward life. - Regulation of the conduct. 

menced, the interest of novelty, and the various excitements 
of the new moral position which the soul assumes, withdraw 
it, as it were, from the influence of ordinary temptations, and 
sin falls asleep. The inexperienced and deluded disciple 
imagines that he has obtained a decisive and final victory ; 
but returning temptation will bring it out again with all its 
original power ; and this power will be exercised with re- 
doubled effects on account of the unguarded position of the 
soul which it assails. Look within, then ; keep up a constant 
watch and warfare there, and while you do not neglect your 
duties to those around you, remember that your first and 
greatest duty is to secure the salvation and the spiritual pro- 
gress of your own soul. 

4. Cultivate as highly as possible what may be called the 
external excellences of character. Be courageous, noble, 
generous, benevolent, just ; and let all around you see that it 
is the tendency of Christianity to carry forward human nature 
in every respect, — to advance it to all the excellences of 
which it is susceptible. On this principle, cultivate such 
habits of thought and feeling as shall lead you to shrink in- 
stinctively from every mean or unworthy act. Be frank and 
open and honorable in all that you do. Give no man any 
opportunity to complain of you for the spirit which manifests 
itself in your dealings with him. Asroid the reputation of 
being miserly, or ill-humored, or proud ; — and the best way 
to avoid the reputation of these things, is to avoid the reality. 
Rise to the possession of a nobler spirit than that which reigns 
in the selfish hearts with which the world is filled ; — you do, 
in reality, if you are a Christian, stand on loftier ground, and 
you should feel this, and be led by it to higher and more 
honorable principles of conduct than others exemplify. 

5. In your feelings toward all around you, be indulgent 



376 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



The feelings toward others. 



Formation of opinions. 









and liberal. When you think of men living obstinately in 
sin, remember how long you were yourself in the same con- 
dition, and let this reflection quell the rising emotion of im- 
patience, and suppress the censorious tone. Make allowances 
for the circumstances and situation of those who are doing 
wrong ; — not to excuse them, for no temptation is an excuse 
for sin, but to remind yourself that under a similar exposure 
you might very probably do the same ; and to lead you to 
feel commiseration and sorrow, rather than to exhibit censo- 
rious and denunciatory zeal, in respect to the faults that you 
witness. 

Liberality, however, in respect to the opinions or conduct 
of others, does not require that you should admit or believe 
every body to be right ; it only regulates the feelings with 
which you regard what you know to be wrong. Many per- 
sons seem to imagine that liberality forbids their saying or 
thinking that their neighbor is in error, or that his actions 
are to be condemned. But can any Christian grace thus 
obliterate all moral distinctions, and bring confusion and de- 
rangement upon the lines which separate truth from false- 
hood and right from wrong ? No. Let your opinions on 
moral subjects be distinct and clear. Express them on proper 
occasions frankly and fearlessly ; but remember while you do 
this that you yourself have spent a large portion of your life 
involved in the common guilt of the human family, and that 
you have been preserved from its extreme enormities o.aly by 
the influence of restraining circumstances and by the grace 
of God. " Who maketh me to differ," should be your first 
thought, when you find yourself feeling a rising irritation 
against sin. 

Do not exaggerate the religious differences between your- 
self and others, or overrate their importance. Be willing to 
see piety wherever you can find it, and be bound to all who 
possess it by a common sympathy. If they differ from you 



THE CONCLUSION. 377 



Independence. Modesty. - Limits to human knowledge. 

in this or that article of belief, do not fix your eye obstinately 
upon that difference, and dwell upon it, and dispute about it, 
till you effectually sunder the bond by which you might be 
united. Look for piety. Wherever you find it, welcome it 
to your confidence and sympathy. In all your efforts to do 
good, too, aim at the direct promotion of piety, not at the 
eradication of religious error. Your attacks upon error will 
only strengthen it in its intrenchments ; but piety, wherever 
you can make it grow, will undermine and destroy error 
more surely than any other means that you can employ. 

G. In the formation of your own opinions, be independent 
and bold, but cherish that modesty and humility which w T ill 
always be inspired by a just estimate of the limits of human 
powers. In the first place, be independent ; use your OAvn 
reason, your own senses, your own Bible. Be untrammeled ; 
throw off the chains and fetters which compel so many 
minds to believe only what they are told to believe, and to 
walk intellectually and morally in paths marked out for 
them by human teachers. The Bible and the field of moral 
observation are open before all, and you ought to go into this 
field as an original and an independent observer. In the 
second place, be modest. It is the characteristic of a weak 
mind to be dogmatical and positive. Such a mind makes up 
in dogged determination to believe, what it wants in evi- 
dence. Come to your conclusions cautiously ; and take care 
that your belief covers no more ground than your proofs. Do 
not dispute about what you do not understand, nor push your 
investigations beyond the boundaries of human knowledge. 
Men are often sadly perplexed with difficulties which arise 
from the simple fact that they have got beyond their depth. 
If we go far away from the region of practical duty, our light 
goes out ; — we are puzzled with difficulties, and seeming con- 
tradictions, which we can not reconcile. We are like a 



THE COKNER-STONE. 






Growing in piety. 






within 
with a 
bounds 



school-boy with a map 
of the world before 
him. The delineations 
of England and Amer- 
ica are plain, but when 
he goes out toward 
the boundaries of the 
circles, all is distorted 
by the effect of the 
projection, and his puz- 
zled head can not ex- 
actly understand how 
Greenland and Nova 
Zembla can come to- 
gether. Be bold and 
independent, then, in 
forming your opinions, 
the region which is fairly before you, — but proceed 
cautious and modest step when you go beyond these 




THE SCHOOL-BOY. 






7. Groic, in piety. Many persons consider conversion as 
the completion of a change, which leaves nothing to be done 
during the rest of life but to rest in idle expectation of the 
happiness of heaven. But conversion is not a change com- 
pleted ; — it is a change began. It is the first favorable 
turn, in a desperate disease, and must be followed by the 
progress of convalescence, or health will never come. Make 
it your great work therefore to grow thus in piety. "Watch 
your own heart, and make a special interest in studying its 
mysteries, and detecting its deceits, and understanding its 
sins. Notice its changes so as to observe the indications of 
progress, or the symptoms of decline. You will take a strong 
interest in this work, if von engage in it in earnest. A man 



THE CONCLUSION. 379 



Pressing forward. * Trust in the Savior. 



who has a large estate, takes pleasure in planning and carry- 
ing forward improvements upon it. He supplies its defi- 
ciencies, and adds in various ways to its conveniences for 
business, or its means of enjoyment ; and he takes pleasure 
in this, not merely on account of the increased value hereby 
given to his property, hut because it is a source of direct 
gratification to watch the progress of improvement, especially 
when that progress is the effect of his own efforts, and is 
directed by his own skill. Now an interest similar in nature 
to this should be felt by every Christian, in the moral and 
spiritual advancement of his own soul. You must not be con- 
tent to be stationary, — to go through, day after day, the same 
round of religious duty ; merely as good a Christian to-day 
as you were yesterday, and looking forward to no improve- 
ment to-morrow. No ; let it be your distinct understanding 
that when you abandon your life of ungodliness and sin, and 
come and give yourself to the service of God, your work is 
entered upon, not concluded. Expect to press onward. 
Be vigilant, — be faithful, — -and look forward to your future 
Christian course, as to a path of difficulty and trial. Go on 
in it perseveringly, from contest to contest, and from victory 
to victory. 

8. Look to the Savior for moral protection. Keep as near 
as possible to him. Do not trust to your own resolutions or 
your own strength for the means of resisting temptation and 
sin. Just so far as you do, your Christian course will be a 
series of feeble, faltering efforts, alternating with continnual 
slips and falls. The power which rescued you at first, is the 
only one that can keep you now, and as you go on therefore, 
through the years of trial and temptation and duty which are 
before you, rest all your hopes on Him. The journey will be 
pleasant and safe, though difficult, if you go under the Sa- 
vior's protection, and keep constantly near to him. It will 






280 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



Jesus Christ the chief Corner-stone. 



be sad and sorrowful enough, both in its progress and m 
its termination, if you be left to go alone. Your hopes of 
forgiveness for the past should rest on Him, — so should 
your hopes of spiritual protection for the future. In a word, 
the edifice of salvation must rest on Him as on its Corner* 



THE END. 



